


A Rose By Any Other Name

by ItinerantAvthor



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cinderella AU, False Identity, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Royal spock, Servant Jim, ever after au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItinerantAvthor/pseuds/ItinerantAvthor
Summary: A Cinderella AU - Jim is nobody, a servant from Riverside, Iowa. Spock is the Crown Prince. What happens when they meet under false pretenses, and Jim is not who he seems?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this fic helped me crawl out of a heavy depressive episode (yay!). I was inspired to write it when I recently re-watched "Ever After" (1998) with Drew Barrymore, the film that began my feminist awakening when I was but a wee babe. There are parts to this fic that completely borrow from the film - I don't own any content from "Ever After," "Utopia (Thomas Moore)," or "Star Trek," nor do I claim any of the characters or plot or want to make money off of any of them. This is purely self-indulgent garbage that makes me happy. Please don't sue me. I imagined this as mostly based on the AOS universe, but some characters I wanted to be from TOS.
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr as @bllbabaggins if you want to yell at me there - although I'd prefer if it was positive yelling rather than negative yelling :)

A bright, blazing sun rose over the horizon. It was going to be a beautiful, warm late spring day, and news of Winona Kirk’s return from deep space created a stir at the farmhouse. Her young son, a boy of eight years, bounced around like the embodiment of kinetic energy. Chekhov called him a “whirling dervish,” whatever that meant. Jim Kirk only knew two things for sure: first, that his mother was coming home, and that meant lots of hugs and laughter and kisses. Second, that she was bringing home a father and two brothers just for him. He could barely sit still, he was so excited to meet Frank, Mark, and Jack. To think that he would soon have a full family! 

Hikaru eventually managed to wrangle him into a starched suit that looked exactly like what Jim’s father, George, had worn in his days as a Starfleet officer. Jim was instructed very sternly to not get his suit dirty, to stay calm and clean so that his new family would like him, and, in order to do those two things, stay away from Leonard McCoy. 

“Those boys are two peas in a pod,” Hikaru muttered to Ben, his husband, as he brushed out the last of the curls in Jim’s fluffy hair. “And if Leonard sees him in this getup, he’s sure to try and get a rise out of him.” 

“You don’t want to see Jim greeting his new stepfather looking like one of the pigs in the stye?” Ben asked innocently, laughing at the evil eye his husband shot him.

“Don’t you dare encourage him, Ben Sulu,” Hikaru warned. Then he turned Jim around and said very sternly, “James Tiberius, I want no shenanigans out of you today. Is that clear?” 

“My mommy says shenanigans make me precocious,” Jim said, his mouth twisting around the big words. 

Hikaru sighed. “That’s one word for it,” he said wearily, just as a loud clack was heard at the window. Jim sprinted to the shutters, bursting them open despite Hikaru’s protests.

“Don’t throw rocks at my room, Leonard! I told you, I can’t play today!”

“Whoa. You look like a gentleman,” Leonard said, lowering his arm to his side. A hefty rock slipped out of his grasp.

Jim sniffed. “That’s what I am,” he declared. “A gentleman.”

“Chekhov’s more of a gentleman than you, you billy goat!” Leonard called, grinning crookedly. 

Hikaru rushed to the window, but he was too late. Jim was already gone, running through the halls and yelling that _he could beat Leonard into a pulp any day of the week, gentleman-looking or not._

“Oh, child! Your mother will be here any minute!” Hikaru pleaded. It was no use. Jim was already gone.

The servants rushed here and there, making final preparations for Winona Kirk’s arrival. Hikaru and Ben stood at the entryway to the large farmhouse, and Hikaru couldn’t help but plant a firm kiss on his husband’s temple. Ben winked cheekily and pinched Hikaru’s bottom just to see him blush and scold. Chekhov came running up at the last second as a large hovercar crawled up the lane to the farmhouse.

“Jim,” he panted, parking himself at Hikaru’s side. “He’s -”

“Home sweet home!” Winona’s clear voice rang, stepping out of the hovercar. With a grin and a sigh, she drank in the sight - all the servants waiting with beaming faces, the clean and beautiful farmhouse awaiting her, and glowing, verdant fields rolling in the distance. 

She greeted every servant by name, shaking a hand or offering a hug. Winona was by far the best landlord the Sulus had ever known, and they welcomed her warmly. Their adopted son, Chekhov, a little older than Jim himself, practically melted in Winona’s arms. 

An unknown man’s voice called for Winona. She grinned and went to the hovercar, opening the door for her new husband and his two sons. Hikaru found himself watching them critically. While Winona Kirk was a great landlord, allowing the servants time off and paying them more than the meager wages they were owed by the Federation’s standards, the Sulus knew well that any meddling from the new husband could change their prospects overnight.

“Well, Winona, isn’t this place so very... charming,” the man said. His sons hung back, hesitation and confusion on their faces.

“Have you seen Jimmy, Hikaru?” Winona asked, dropping her new husband’s hand to look around for her son. As she turned toward the barn, a giggling blur of golden hair and muddy clothes jumped into her arms.

“Mommy!” Jim shouted, hugging his mother fiercely.

“Oh, Jimmy!” Winona held him tightly, pressing him close in a protective embrace. When she pulled back to get a look at him, she laughed loud and long. Before she could say anything, Jim pointed behind her.

“Leonard said I couldn’t beat him dressed in gentleman’s clothes!” he said.

Winona smiled. “And so you had to prove him wrong, did you?” she teased.

“Yes, ma’am! I slaughtered him!” Jim crowed.

“You sla- oh, my,” Winona laughed, turning to see a completely brown, scowling Leonard McCoy, covered from head to toe in dark mud.

“Goodness, Jim, I’d thought to introduce a young Lord to your new stepfather and brothers. Ah, well, I guess you’ll have to do.” She winked at him and set him down on the ground. “James Tiberius Kirk, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to my Lord Baron Francis von Ghent and his two sons, Mark and Jack.”

“How do you do?” Jim said, politely bowing as he had been taught.

“Very well, thank you,” Lord Francis replied with a smile, bowing in turn. He gestured to the boy on his right. “This is Mark, my oldest,” he said, “and this,” turning to the boy on his left, “is Jack.” 

“I’m sure they’re very excited to meet you Jimmy. Why don’t we clean up first and have dinner?” Winona suggested. They trooped inside, leaving the servants to deal with the luggage and the cars. 

After a very filling meal and several long stories of travel, Jim learned that Lord Francis liked to be called Frank, and didn’t like when Jim called him “stepfather.” He also learned that Mark was older than Jack by two years - _one and three quarters,_ protested Jack - and that both of the boys were learning how to be the very best courtiers in all the land. Winona and Jim shared a grinning look at this. She had always taught Jim that being close to nature, close to the farm, was far more important than being high-and-mighty.

That night, Winona tucked Jim into bed as usual and kissed him on the forehead. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” she said, as if it was an afterthought, though really she had been looking forward to giving Jim his present all day. She presented him with a real, physical book, one that had a hard cover and paper pages. Jim’s wide eyes beheld it reverently as he flipped through the chapters carefully. “ _Utopia_ ,” he read in a whisper.  
Winona laughed. “Do you like it?” she asked.

“Oh, I love it,” Jim breathed. He looked up at her with wide, watery eyes. “Thank you, mommy!” 

“I love you, Jimmy,” she said, and hugged him tightly. She breathed in the sweetness of his hair. “And I hope you’ll love this book, too. Hopefully you won’t read through it too fast, or you’ll have gotten through it before I’ve even come back.”

“Come back?” Jim frowned. He put the book down to look at his mother. “Are you leaving again?”

Winona smiled sadly. “Yes, darling, but only for a fortnight,” she said. 

Jim wanted to cry, but tried desperately to hold it in. “But you’ve only just arrived,” he argued. “Can’t you be gone for just a few days?” 

Sighing, Winona shook her head and tucked Jim back in. “I’m afraid not. I’ll try and make my trip last two weeks, though, instead of a full fourteen days.”

“One week,” Jim said stubbornly.

“Two,” she shot back, watching him with a small smile.

“One!” 

“T- oh, star’s sake,” Winona chuckled. She held out her fist to play “Rock, Paper, Scissors” and lost, paper to scissors. She laughed as Jim snipped at her fingers with his own.

“Alright, fine,” she sighed heavily, as if very put out. “One week.” 

“Yay! And when you get back, we’ll do everything as a family,” Jim said excitedly, planning out the rest of his life with his mother, stepfather, and new brothers.

Winona grinned widely. “Yeah, kiddo,” she said. “Everything as a family.”

The next morning, the servants all stood in front of the farmhouse once again, sad to see Winona go. Frank and his sons stood morosely by the hovercar, while Jim hugged his mother’s legs and refused to release her.

“I’ve never seen so many gloomy faces!” Winona said, trying to cheer them up. “I’ll only be gone for a week.”

“Then go,” Frank murmured, drawing her in for a chaste kiss. “For the sooner you leave, the sooner you will return.”

Winona smiled and bent down to pat Mark and Jack’s heads. Then she picked Jim up and hefted him to her hip. 

“Now, Jim, I’m counting on you to show Frank and Mark and Jack the ropes around here,” she said. Jim’s eyes glimmered with tears. “Baron Francis here isn’t used to getting his hands dirty. You’ll help him out, won’t you?”

Jim sniffed. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. 

Winona hugged him tightly for a long moment, then set him down gently next to Jack. 

“I’ll see you in one week,” she promised, and got into the hovercar waiting for her. It drove down the lane slowly, drawing further and further away from the farmhouse.

Frank sighed dramatically and called for Mark and Jack to follow him and get back to their lessons. Jim looked up with wide eyes. 

“Wait! It’s tradition!” he said, pointing to the looming gate separating the farm’s lonely lane from the highway. “Mommy always waves at the gate.”

Frank hesitated, then shrugged, and waved for Mark and Jack to follow him inside. Jim set his shoulders, determined to see Winona off safely. He watched as the hovercar made it to the end of the lane, then pull slowly onto the highway to set off toward Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco -

And then the loudest noise Jim had ever heard made its way to the front steps of the farmhouse. Jim watched in horror as an enormous, heavy trailer truck slammed into his mother’s small car. An elongated screech bit into Jim’s ears, and scraps of metal flew left and right from the collision. 

“Mommy!” Jim screamed, running towards the scene. The servants were right behind him, and Frank, hearing the commotion, was hot on their heels.

Jim reached his mother first. She had managed to crawl out of the wreckage, bloodied and broken. She lay on her back, staring up at the sky; her chest heaved with every wet, rasping breath. Jim cradled her head, sobbing.

“Mommy, mommy,” he cried, trying to wipe blood away from her eyes.

Frank settled on her other side, pulling Winona into his lap awkwardly. 

“Winnie, oh, God, Winnie,” he moaned. 

For a moment, she stared at Frank, and he thought she would speak to him. Then she blinked and turned her head to Jim, who clutched her right hand to his chest as if it was a life preserver.

“I love you,” she whispered to her son. Jim sobbed. “I love you, I love you,” she repeated. Then, with a shuddering breath, Winona Kirk closed her eyes for the last time.

Frozen over his new wife’s body, Frank began to shudder. “Winnie, no,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, no. No! You can’t leave me here! Don’t leave me here!”

Weeping, Jim threw himself on top of his mother, pleading for her to come back. Behind them, the servants edged forward, gently peeling Jim away from the bloody wreck and allowing a wailing Frank to lean heavily on them.

It would be ten long years before Jim could begin to heal from his mother’s death. Ten years of living first in the farmhouse, then in the big barn, then in the outfield barn. Ten years of Frank distancing him from Mark and Jack until Jim was just another servant. Ten years of hushed prayers and sobs on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Jim fixed it firmly in his mind that things could always be worse. He could be starving, or dying on a strange planet far away. At least he got to live on the farm, he would remind himself. At least he got to stay with the people he knew and loved.

Chekhov and the Sulus took him in immediately, showering him with affection. They were his second family, taking care of him every step of the way. On Frank’s harshest days they reminded Jim that he was never alone. They were his sanctuary from Mark and Jack’s cruel tauntings, his security when he had strange and terrible nightmares. Every evening they encouraged Jim to read from his mother’s vast library, especially once Frank cut off his schooling. 

“I don’t care how much work the harvest makes,” Hikaru said angrily, practically shoving Utopia into Jim’s hands. “You need to exercise your brain just as much as your body.”  
So Jim did. He worked hard during the day and read chapter upon chapter at night. Far into the wee hours of the morning, he would read near the fire, getting closer and closer as it died down into embers, until he woke in the dawn’s early glow covered in soot and cinder. 

\---

Stars twinkled in the midnight velveteen sky above. Spock, the Crown Prince of the United Federation of Planets, grunted as he rappelled down the side of his father’s palace. His breath fogged before him. 

Feet hit the ground softly. Vulcans were naturally quiet, and Spock used that to his advantage. Slipping past the guards was quite easy. Silently, he guided the low-riding hovercraft onto the highway. As he gathered speed, Spock looked out over the dark cityscape blurring by.

He had never wanted to be in this position - running away from his problems, not doing his duty as a son or a prince. But Sybok had disappeared years ago, and the last Spock heard he had founded some cult on the edge of the galaxy. And Michael, his adopted older sister, was not legally entitled to the throne because she wasn’t of Sarek’s blood. That left him. He envied Michael, wanted to fly between the stars like her, wanted to marry for love like she did. Sylvia was everything Michael needed and wanted. Spock doubted he would ever find someone like that for him.

And yet, he might have been willing to stay and work things through if it wasn’t for his father. His father! High King Sarek in his mighty palace with his many rules and regulations expected Spock to be just like him, to be the perfect Vulcan Prince. But Spock was not a perfect Vulcan - many saw him as flawed, weak, a betrayal to the Vulcan species because of his Human mother.

It was useless to bargain with him. Spock had tried in vain for the final time last night. Sarek simply refused to back down, insisting on this bizarre and truly repulsive political arranged marriage between Spock and Sehena, a High Romulan General. He sneered in disgust in the privacy of the hovercar; how his father could believe that Spock would willingly go along with such a scheme was beyond him.

Even his mother had urged him to do the right thing and accept this political alliance. Queen Amanda rarely used her status to try and influence Spock’s decision-making, but last night she had put her foot down and asked Spock to “think beyond himself for once.” Alone in the hovercar, Spock allowed his hands to grip the steering wheel tighter even as he schooled his expression into stoicism. 

He was snapped out of his musings when he passed a large holoboard on the side of the highway, welcoming him to Nebraska. He blinked. The trip from San Francisco to New York was surely not a long one, but he had come a long way without even realizing it. Spock glanced out his rearview mirror to check for any pursuers. None. He allowed himself to breathe a bit easier and relax behind the wheel.

Not even twenty minutes later, he passed yet another holoboard that blared a too-cheery “Welcome to Iowa! Corn-fed, corn-raised!” Spock rolled his eyes and pressed his foot to the accelerator. He wanted to get to New New York as soon as possible - from there, he could catch any number of shuttle flights and get to wherever he wanted to go. 

Frowning, Spock pressed harder on the accelerator, even though it was illogical. He simply was not speeding up. In fact, the speedometer told him he was slowing down. With a low growl, Spock found himself coming to a halt on the edge of a cornfield. His global positioning system told him that he was right outside a village called Riverside. A blinking message on the dashboard told him that his guard was coming after him.

Spock bit his lower lip to keep himself from shouting in rage. 

“ _Kaiidith_ ,” he muttered under his breath, walking away from the vehicle. He decided he’d need to borrow someone else’s hovercar or bike until he got to New York, and then he would find a way to pay them back somehow. _Or not_ , he thought vaguely. After all, he was the Prince.

Surprisingly, he only had to walk a few miles before stumbling upon a sleepy, sprawling farm. The main house looked quiet; in the dusky light of the pre-dawn, it looked abandoned, sad, almost. Spock shook his head to get rid of those fantastic ideas. It must be his Human blood taking over, he decided, and set his shoulders defiantly. 

It took a few moments to find where the vehicles were hidden. In the rust-colored barn with shuttered windows and a creaky frame, Spock found one small hoverbike, which looked like it had been last updated around the Third World War, and one larger hovercar, sleek and sharp. He allowed his gaze to rove over the vehicle. It was one of the nicest he’d ever seen. What was it doing in a place like this? Shrugging internally, Spock popped the door open and was about to sit inside when he was interrupted by a screech and something solid hitting the side of his head.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Three hits, one after the other, on his temple, forehead, and chest. Each hollow impact echoed in his ears. 

Stunned, Spock could only cover his head and crouch, hiding from the projectiles coming from seemingly nowhere and everywhere. “Stop!” he cried out.

“Stop? Foul thief! Take that! And that!” a voice shouted back at him. Two more projectiles bounced off the hood of the car as Spock scrambled for cover.

He stooped, breathing heavily, finally hidden by a large piece of farming equipment. Squinting at the item near his knee, he picked it up and examined it. 

An apple.

The disgruntled person was throwing apples at him.

“Get out of here, you, you awful stealer!” the voice commanded. “And stay out! Trying to steal my family’s things! The nerve of some people!” 

“Please, sir, I didn’t mean to steal it,” Spock said, peeking out from behind the faded green machinery. An apple lobbed by his head for the trouble. “My own hovercar broke down and I needed assistance -”

“So you abscond with our resources? You dirty, lying -”

Spock bristled and emerged from behind his hiding place, ready to give the man a piece of his Princely mind for the backtalk. He had imagined an ugly, backwards farmhand, ignorant and stupid and in dire need of a dentist. Instead, he found a young man with bright blond hair and dazzling eyes peeking out from a soot-streaked face, holding at least three more apples and staring in wonder.

“Your Highness,” the young man breathed, then dropped to his face. “I am so sorry, I apologize most profusely, Sire,” he pleaded to the concrete. “I didn’t see you there.”

Spock, slightly dazed, touched his forehead and said drily, “I find that hard to believe.”

“I know I’ve wronged you, Your Highness, and for that I must die,” the young man continued, voice wobbling.

He paused. Spock would never punish someone that extremely, although he knew the laws about harming a member of the Royal family. Still, he did need to get going, and the young man didn’t need to be the wiser.

Clearing his throat, Spock withdrew a wallet from his robes. “Correct. However -” he tossed a credit chip to the ground near the servant’s head. “Speak of this to no one, and I shall be lenient,” he commanded, then climbed into the hovercar. He started it just as the young man rose to his knees, tear tracks clearly marking his cheeks. 

“Your Highness, I’m sure we can get you another car, if that is what you desire,” he offered, staring bewilderingly at the credit chip.

Spock grit his teeth. “I desire nothing but to be free of my gilded cage,” he muttered. Then he started the vehicle with a smooth press of a button and drove off. 

The hovercar was fast and light, and he was on the highway and out of Iowa in less than forty minutes. Yet he could not forget the servant who had first attacked and then cowered before him. Even beneath the dirty hair and face and ragged peasant clothes, Spock saw glimpses of beauty; there was an intelligence in his eyes that warmed Spock to his core. If he hadn’t been on the run, perhaps -

But no, he told himself, firmly gripping the steering wheel and bending it under his Vulcan strength. That young man was a servant. A nobody. And Spock was a Prince. He couldn’t just marry anyone to get out of an arranged marriage, even with a Romulan. Spock smirked ever so slightly. What would his father say if he married a commoner? 

Engrossed in his thoughts, Spock almost missed the Welcome to Pennsylvania holoboard that flashed before him an hour or so later. He drummed his fingers against the misshapen steering wheel, a rather human display of impatience and frustration. He couldn’t know where his guard was behind him. Could they have caught up to his broken-down vehicle in Riverside? If so, could they possibly know where he was going from there? He did some quick mental math and grimaced. If he reached New New York at his current pace, he would, at the very least, have to catch the first shuttle off the continent to get ahead of his guard, and there would be a very short window after that to miss them. Then -

His planning was interrupted by a block in the road. Spock stamped on the brake. It was a group of thieves, Rowapis by the look of them - rather on the smaller side, with long hair and sharp, retractable teeth - taking a lone traveler by surprise. Spock was about to pass by when said traveler flung herself at his car.

“Sir, please!” she begged, her voice panicked and shrill. “They took my most prized possession, please help me get it back!” 

“I do not have the time,” Spock said curtly. “Call 111 immediately -”

“They’ll be long gone by then,” the woman interrupted. “And I only need one thing back. It is literally priceless - my life’s work! Please, sir, he’s getting away!”

Spock set his jaw and really looked the woman over. She was dark-skinned and beautiful, with thick, sleek hair on her head and the warmest brown eyes he’d ever seen. Her dress glinted in the sunlight, a dark red that suited her skin tone. 

“I will regret this,” Spock muttered to himself. He rushed out of the car to pursue the fleeing Rowapi man on foot. Through thick thatches of forest they wove, hurtling over boulders and fallen trees, until Spock caught up to the thief. He tackled him and they rolled several feet before coming to a halt. The Rowapi was quicker to his feet and punched Spock in the jaw, leaving no lasting damage but slowing him down for a moment. Another pursuit, shorter this time, and Spock grabbed the small, square package out of the other man’s hands, shoving him down.

Instead of admitting defeat, the Rowapi grasped at Spock’s ankle as he rolled away. They tumbled downhill at an alarming speed. Suddenly, they were unsupported - falling through the air, down, down, down, and Spock heard the thief scream momentarily before he was silenced by a mouthful of water.

Spock chose to focus, for the moment, on how thankful he was that they landed in a lake rather than a pile of boulders at the bottom of the hill. Instead of being wet, he could have a broken spine. Still, it was difficult to be grateful when he could feel every drop of water slide down his skin, feel the way his body reacted to maintain a homeostatic temperature against the cold water, feel the wet slap of his hair against his face when he came up for air.

When he came to the shore, bedraggled and shaking, he found not only the traveler but also his guard waiting for him.

“Ah,” he said, defeated.

“Prince Spock,” the Captain of the Gaurd, Hendorf, greeted him coldly. “You promised.”

He simply exhaled heavily - not a sigh, as that would be far too Human - and shook his head enthusiastically to rid his hair of excess water.

“I know. I lied,” Spock replied curtly. 

He handed the package back to the woman, who waited eagerly behind the Captain’s hovercar.

“Oh, Sire, thank you,” she breathed, holding it like a child.

Spock squinted. “For what, exactly, did I sacrifice my freedom?” he asked acerbically.

She simply smiled and unfolded the package. Its outer shell retreated quickly under her clever fingers. Spock stared at the item she held.

“A universal translator,” she said.

“Are there not already universal translators? What makes this one special?” Spock asked.

The woman would have been well within her rights to be offended by his tone, he knew, but he was much too tired to care whether he was being well-mannered at the moment.

“Of course, Your Highness,” she said. “But this one I designed myself. It has every known language in the universe, not just the Federation. It also scans for non-spoken languages and broadcasts them on a holoprojector - like so.” She demonstrated, and a 3-dimensional display shone in the shimmering mid-morning air. 

“Fascinating,” Spock said quietly. Hendorf glared at him.

“Nyota Uhura is a renowned linguist, Sire,” he told the Prince in a tone that suggested he should already know this.

Spock’s eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. 

“ _The_ Lieutenant Nyota Uhura?” he asked, awed. “Madame, you are a guest of my father’s palace, are you not?”

She nodded, grinning. “Indeed, Your Highness, though I’m anxious to know why you were going in the opposite direction in such haste.”

Hendorf cleared his throat. “Prince Spock is afflicted with an arranged marriage, Ma’am. Among other things,” he muttered under his breath.

His advanced hearing caught the insult, but Spock brushed it off. “Madame, you are the paragon of the modern age. Perhaps you can bring my father into the 23rd century! It is cruel and unusual punishment, is it not, to force one’s own child into a marriage made for purely political reasons?”

Uhura looked from Hendorf to Spock uncertainly. “Well,” she started, but Hendorf interrupted.

“Your Highness, it is high time we get back to your father,” he said sternly. “Don’t bother the Lieutenant, she has other things to think of. Now, where did you get this hovercar?”

Spock composed himself and tried not to sigh out loud. It was going to be a long way back to San Francisco.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim goes on an adventure in the big city. When he meets the Prince face-to-face once more, will he be able to keep his identity a secret?

Jim’s gaze followed the hovercar’s path until it disappeared over the horizon. He held the credit chip in his hand, staring at it as if it might disappear if he blinked. Printed on the side was its full worth.

5,000 credits.

_Holy shit_ , Jim thought.

He felt lightheaded when he finally stood. A bleary dawn was waking the world; curls of fog still lifted off the ground, and the roosters in their pens crowed with rasping voices. Jim didn’t notice any of it. He walked toward the farmhouse, a handful of apples still stuffed in his pockets. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but the blessing that had fallen into his lap could only go toward one thing. Jim’s eyes glinted with determination, and he ran the last hundred yards to the kitchen.

When he arrived, Chekhov and Hikaru were already hunched over the main energy cell for the house, cursing its ancient wiring. Jim plopped the apples down onto the counter.

“You’d better get up there, Jim,” Pavel warned, wiping his forehead with a dirty rag. “Frank’s in a bad mood again.”

“Does the sun rise in the East on this planet?” Hikaru muttered. He threw down a pair of pliers in disgust.

“Yes, indeed it does, Mr. Sulu,” Jim answered with a grin. He held the credit chip out for the others to inspect. “And it’s going to be a beautiful morning.”

“Stars!” Chekhov whispered, his eyes growing rounder by the second. “Where did you get this, Jim?”

“I wished upon a star,” Jim smiled. Then his voice grew soft. “I know just what to do with it.”

Hikaru gasped and covered his mouth. “Ben?” he asked shakily.

Jim nodded. “If Frank thinks he can sell a human being to pay off _his_ late taxes, then this is sure to be able to buy him back!” 

“Oh, Jim,” Pavel sighed. Hikaru closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

“Bless you, Jim,” he whispered. He wiped at his face hurriedly and shoved the chip in Jim’s apron pocket. “You’d better keep this close, or Frank’ll have it and your head,” he warned. “Now go, before they come down here themselves!”

Before he knew it, Jim was handed a steaming loaf of bread and two platters of eggs, then nudged out the door to the staircase that led to the upstairs dining room. 

Frank sat at the head of the enormous table. Jack and Mark sat on his left and right, respectively. They looked annoyed and tired, yawning into their hands and glaring at him with puffy eyes.

“What took you so long?” Mark fretted as Jim placed the bread and eggs on the table.

Jim blushed. “I, er, fell off the ladder in the apple orchard,” he lied. “But I’m all better, now.”

Frank yawned and waved his hand, brushing him aside. “Mark, what have I taught you about raising your voice?” 

Mark opened his mouth, but it was Jack who answered. “A gentleman ought not raise his voice above the gentle whisper of the wind,” he said, his voice tapering ever quieter until it died out completely.

Both Mark and Frank glared at him. Jim stood behind them, in the alcove where a sculpture usually sat. He coughed once to cover a giggle.

“Jack, if I have told you once, I have told you a million times that you should not speak unless what you are going to say will benefit your audience,” Frank declared flatly, slicing into his bread. “And Mark, your tone _was_ rather shrill.”

“I wasn’t _shrill_ , I was _resonant_ ,” Mark argued, splitting open a hard boiled egg and glumly peeling the shell off. 

Frank snorted. “I doubt if your resonant tone would be welcomed in court.”

“Well, I won’t _get_ to court, will I, father?” Mark asked, shoving a salt-coated egg into his mouth. “I’ll never get past the horrible state governor, much less to the Royal court for a whole season.” The last sentence was garbled around half-chewed food. Jim cringed.

“Nonsense,” Frank said, delicately biting off a corner of still-steaming bread. “I’ll get you married to Prince Spock if it’s the last thing I do.”

Mark slumped in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. Bright blond hair fell across his forehead.

“But nobody’s going to get married to Prince Spock except that Romulan cow they call a General!” he pouted.

Frank swallowed his bread and gently patted at the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin. “It does seem a great waste he won’t marry anyone within the Federation,” he mused. “A real tragedy.”

“At least it will be good for our political alliance with Romulus!” Jack chimed in. He cringed when his brother and father glared at him. “Not that I care,” he murmured, shoving a hard-boiled egg into his mouth.

\---

A group of traveling salespeople drove through Riverside in the afternoon. Jim’s eyes glinted as Frank and his sons marveled over their shining wares, especially the jewelry. While they were occupied, Jim snuck into Jack’s room and nervously grabbed a suit from the back of his wardrobe that he was sure his stepbrother wouldn’t miss for at least a day. Leonard met him in the servant’s quarters out back, where the Sulus lived.

“Jim, you know I ain’t one to complain,” he said, nervously glancing out the window to watch Frank hold a broach up to Mark’s chest in the distance. “But I really don’t feel good about this.”

“Bones, when do you feel good about anything?” Jim accused, slipping behind a privacy curtain to change. He stripped off his clothes and shimmied into the pants easily.

His best friend just muttered and picked up one of his anatomy books. “All I’m sayin’ is there’s a huge chance you get caught and beaten and sold, just like Ben.”

Jim huffed and pulled the pale blue shirt over his head, then grabbed the black jacket. “And I’m saying that the risk is worth the reward,” he argued. He took a deep breath and then said: “Alright, I’m coming out. Don’t you dare laugh.”

Emerging from behind the privacy curtain, Jim expected to hear Bones guffaw or make a smart remark about his looks. Instead, he found McCoy’s head cocked to the side and his eyes wide.

“Damn, Jim,” Bones said softly. “You look just like your ma.”

Jim blushed and dropped his eyes to the floor.

“No, none o’ that now,” Bones chastised, lifting Jim’s chin so that he was forced to look into his best friend’s eyes. “You’re a gentleman, a courtier. You look down for no one.”

Jim tried to smile, but it faltered on his lips. “What about my shoes?” he worried, rocking back on his heels. “They don’t match the outfit. What if someone sees, and -”

Bones chuckled and stepped back to get a better look. “Listen, no one’s gonna be lookin’ at your feet,” he promised. “Now, let’s do somethin’ about that hair o’ yours.”

When Bones finished with Jim’s hair, he whistled and stood back for Pavel to get a good look. “Well?” he asked expectantly, puffing his chest out with pride. Jim scrunched his nose and glanced anxiously at Chekhov.

“I mean, I don’t know what you want me to say,” the young man said, shuffling back and forth. “I’ve never seen a courtier, I don’t know what their hair looks like.”

“Do you think anyone who looks at me is gonna see a servant?” Jim asked, wringing his hands together.

Pavel blinked. “Oh, no,” he said. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna think that.”

Jim sighed loudly in relief. 

“I told you there was no reason to worry, Jim-boy,” Bones grinned.

He just glared at his friend. “Now remember, I’m out picking wildflowers if Frank comes back to the house for any reason,” he began, but Bones interrupted him.

“Come on, Jim, we know the drill. You gotta get goin’.”

They put Jim on the first and fastest train out of Iowa to San Francisco. The bullet train sped into the horizon, and Riverside quickly fell away out the window. Jim sat back and tried not to look anxious. 

The next two hours felt like hell; he had to have the relaxed, arrogant air of a courtier, but all he could think about was his plan to get Ben back. What if he was too late? What if they wouldn’t take his payment? What if someone recognized him, or Ben called out his name and the whole thing was discovered? It was a crime for a servant to impersonate a courtier, up to five days in prison and a whole quarter’s wages withheld. Plus whatever punishment Frank saw fit to give, if he were to find out. Jim shuddered in his seat. 

When he disembarked, Jim practically stumbled into a pair of royal guards doing their rounds.

“Sir,” they nodded politely. He couldn’t speak, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth in fear, so he simply nodded back. The pair walked away, leaving him alone.

Jim gaped. “Wow,” he whispered, looking around him.

Nothing felt real. The palace was on the horizon, taking up most of the skyline that Jim could see from the station. Hundreds of people passed by him, taking no notice of the strange courtier staring up at the gleaming San Francisco slack-jawed.

Still, Jim was here for a reason. He squared his shoulders and marched toward the palace gate. He felt certain that if he could find where the prisoners - _slaves_ , Jim corrected himself angrily - were held, he and Ben could slip out of the city and back into obscurity with relatively little trouble.

From a large bridge, Jim could peer into the lower courtyard of the palace. Shuffling figures were prodded with fierce-looking lirpas to board a humming shuttle. Jim inhaled sharply. The last figure looked familiar - yes, it was Ben.

“Stars, give me strength,” he murmured under his breath before breaking into a dead run.

“Excuse me! Excuse me,” Jim called out, panting as he reached the shuttle. The poor slaves who had been boarded looked out at him from the port windows, watching this courtier interrupt their death sentences with wide eyes. 

The Captain of the shuttle was not as taken with him as the prisoners. “What do you want?” he asked curtly.

“This man here,” Jim said, pointing to Ben, “is my servant. I have come to pay the debt against him and buy him back.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim could see Ben’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“These prisoners are on their way to Tarsus, _Sir_ ,” the Captain said, emphasizing the last word with a force that didn’t come from respect. “Their sentences were handed down by the King himself. Kindly move out of the way.” A small crowd began to form around them to watch the drama unfold.

“Stop!” Jim commanded, standing firmly between the Captain and the shuttle. “ I have 5,000 credits!”

“You can have me for 5,000 credits, sweetheart,” the Captain snarled. “Now get out of my way.”

“I demand that you set this man free at once!” Jim cried.

The Captain’s face became red. “I said get out of my way,” he screamed.

Around them, the crowd became deathly quiet. 

“Did you just raise your voice at a gentleman, sir?” someone behind them asked quietly.

Jim turned slowly, recognizing who had spoken. He rose unwilling eyes to meet Prince Spock’s. The Captain, it seemed, did the same.

“Your Majesty,” Jim murmured, bowing. He felt like crawling underneath the shuttle. Surely the Prince would remember the young man who had only just that morning thrown apples at his head.

“Sire, I - I -” the Captain stuttered.

“I asked you a simple question,” Prince Spock said firmly. He stepped out of the roofless hovercar and walked to where Jim and the Captain stood, robes flowing gracefully behind him. “Sir, what is it you are trying to do?” he asked.

Jim started, realizing that Spock was speaking to him. “Your Highness, I was simply attempting to free my servant,” he murmured. His cheeks flushed, turning several shades of red. 

“Sire, begging your pardon,” the Captain interrupted, shooting a glare at Jim, “but I’m only trying to do my job, and this… young man is preventing me from doing it. I’ve got to take these thieves to Tarsus, King’s orders.”

“Servants are not necessarily thieves, Your Highness,” Jim retorted hotly. “And those that are cannot help themselves!” 

His words fell flat on the silent crowd. Prince Spock raised one eyebrow.

“Do enlighten us,” he said quietly.

Jim took in a deep breath. “If you, Your Highness, suffer your people to be ill-educated and their manners corrupted from infancy, and then hold them to account for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded, Sire, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?” 

The crowd had stopped moving, stopped breathing. Jim studied the ground at his feet, certain that the Prince would order him onto the shuttle with the others.

“Release him.”

Jim’s head snapped up at the Prince’s order.

“But, Sire,” the Captain protested, blinking rapidly.

“I said release him,” Prince Spock repeated, louder this time.

The Captain jerked his head at one of the guards with a lirpa. He snatched the credit chip out of Jim’s hand with a sneer. The guard dragged Ben out of the shuttle and threw him at Jim’s feet.

He helped Ben up, whispering instructions to meet him at the train station in his ear, and then straightened his jacket.

“Prepare the hovercar, we leave at once,” he said loudly, nodding imperiously to Ben. The older man scurried away, gleaming tears in his eyes. Jim turned to the Prince.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he smiled, bowing, and walked away.

He felt a presence at his shoulder. A glance back revealed, to his surprise, Prince Spock walking beside him.

“Forgive my intrusion, but have we met before?” the Prince asked, furrowing his brow in concentration.

“I do not believe so, Your Majesty,” Jim said, speeding up.

Spock was not so easily dissuaded. “I believed myself to have remembered every courtier on the continent.” 

“Ah,” Jim replied, panicking. “Well, I am… visiting a cousin.”

“Which one?” 

Jim felt sweat prickle on the back of his neck. Why wouldn’t the Prince leave him alone? “My cousin.”

“Yes, you said that already,” Spock observed drily. “Which cousin?”

“The only one I have, Your Majesty.”

Spock stopped him with a hand on his arm. It was gentle but demanding, and Jim had no choice but to cease walking. “Are you being coy on purpose, or are you genuinely avoiding telling me your name?” he demanded.

“No, Sire! And… yes,” Jim said. He started walking again. His internal clock told him he had about three minutes to get to the train station to meet Ben for the next transport out East.

Prince Spock followed, walking easily alongside him. “Then please tell me your cousin’s name so that I may call upon them to learn who you are.” He paused, reaching out to touch Jim’s arm once more. “Anyone who can quote the classics is well worth the effort.”

He couldn’t help it. Jim hesitated, then turned to look at his companion. “The Prince has read _Utopia_?” he asked, a slight smile on his lips.

Spock very nearly rolled his eyes. “Yes, one of many tutors in my younger years found it a fitting reading practice,” he said. “I thought it quite dull and useless. The plight of the everyday rustic bores me.”

“Bores…” Jim breathed. His brows creased together as he stepped away from Prince Spock. “Forgive me, Sire, but that is the most ignorant reading of _Utopia_ I have ever heard. The ‘everyday rustics,’ as you call them, are the legs upon which the great Federation stands, and that position deserves respect, not -”

“Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?” Prince Spock interrupted, halting his companion mid-stride once more. His eyes glinted with delight even as the rest of his face remained an impassive mask.

Jim froze, then forced himself to relax. It didn’t seem that the Prince recognized him, and honestly wanted an answer.

_Here goes nothing_ , he thought. “Well, Sire, you gave one man back his freedom, but did you even look at any of the others?” Jim asked softly. He found that he had to look slightly up to meet Prince Spock’s eye.

The Prince stared back at him. “Please, give me a name,” he replied, just as softly. “Any name.”

Jim squirmed and looked to the train station. He could see Ben lurking in the shadows, nervously watching him. “I’m afraid the only name I have to give you,” he said slowly, “is Count George Kirk.”

“Was that so hard?” Prince Spock asked, his lips quirking upward ever so slightly. 

Jim smiled shyly. Before he could answer, a woman’s voice cut through the crowd.

“Spock! Oh, Spock, you’re back!” 

“I am coming, Mother,” Prince Spock replied. He turned his head to look at Queen Amanda, who stood near the entrance to her garden. 

“Your father would like a word with you,” the Queen said, raising an eyebrow.

Prince Spock very nearly sighed - this was quite an emotive day for him. “I am sure he would like to have several,” he said resignedly. “One moment, Mother.”

Queen Amanda nodded. Prince Spock turned back to his companion. Jim was gone.

At the first sight of the Queen, Jim had rushed away, using the crowds as his cover. He grabbed Ben’s arm and pulled him towards the train, jumping on at the last possible moment. They panted and dropped into a seat near the front. Then Ben was hugging him, squeezing him tightly and not letting go.

“Stars, Jim,” he breathed into the young man’s hair. “I thought I was looking at your father. I thought I was a dead man. I thought -”

“But all that’s behind us,” Jim soothed, wrapping his arms around the only true father figure he’d ever known. “You’re safe now, Ben. We’re going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, I was also screaming at Jim not to get into a debate about Utopia and classism with Prince Spock in the middle of the capital right along with you. What can I say? I was an English major, and can guarantee I would also start a fight in the middle of a super important undercover mission to set the record straight with an arrogant loudmouthed Royal. What can ya do.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I just decided to post all the chapters at once. I hope you enjoy! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben reunites with his family, but has Frank figured out Jim's scheme? Also, the King and Queen meet with Spock.

Jim and Ben walked arm in arm back to the farmhouse. They crossed over acres of golden-green corn gently twisting in the wind. Laughing and talking with light hearts, they found it easier than ever before to enjoy the sunshine and the clear blue sky.

When they came to the top of a hilly field, Ben and Jim stopped in their tracks. There, below them, were Chekhov and Hikaru. They toiled in Frank’s personal garden, backs bent and shirts sticky with sweat. At that moment, Hikaru stood and stretched, grimacing as he did so. His eyes met Ben’s at the top of the hill. Everything seemed to hold its breath in that second; the wind, the bees, the fields all slowed and quieted. Jim thought he would suffocate from the pregnant expectation in the air. But Hikaru broke the silence with a shout and a sob, and began running up to his husband. 

Ben gently unlinked his arm from Jim’s. Great, weeping tears made their way down his face as he ran to meet his beloved. Pavel looked up at Hikaru’s noise, squinting to see who he was running toward. Then, with a loud “Oh!” Pavel also started running, laughing and crying all the way.

The three of them collided at the base of the hill where rows of corn began and Frank’s personal garden ended. They crashed into the heady, dark soil, giggling and crying and kissing each other sloppily. 

“Jim!” Ben cried, extending his arm to invite him in.

Hikaru and Pavel also gestured for him to join them, laughing as Jim shyly came closer. Hikaru pulled him down with them until they were all lying in the dirt, laughing and sobbing with pure joy. 

Later, they gathered in the outhouse barn where Jim slept. They moved inside from the fields to have some privacy.

“Frank is going to be livid if he sees you,” Pavel said to Ben. 

Hikaru hadn’t let go of Ben since he first wrapped his arms around his husband. He squeezed Ben tightly even as Ben kissed the top of his head and rubbed his shoulder. 

“We’ll figure something out,” he murmured.

“We should just go in there and tell him something right away, before he can let his imagination run away with him,” Jim said. He was sitting on the cold concrete floor, resting against Pavel’s legs. “If we tell him up front he shouldn’t be as mad as if he found you working in the fields.”

“Of all the luck,” Chekhov muttered as he stood and stretched. “Living in one of the last two states on the continent that allows for servitude. Why couldn’t I have moved to Ohio instead?” 

“Or Georgia,” Jim chuckled as he stood, too. “Bones is always saying it’s the -”

“Best land on God’s green Earth,” they all intoned, laughing. 

The four of them trudged toward the farmhouse. Ben and Hikaru held hands, fingers interlocking, and shared long, warm looks. Jim and Chekhov walked ahead to give them privacy. On the way, Jim idly picked wildflowers to cement his cover story. 

Jim was first to the dining room, humming and grinning to himself. The second he stepped inside, however, a vice-like grip on his upper arm shoved him into a chair next to the ancient fireplace.

“How dare you?” Frank hissed, cornering a cowering Jim. “Of all the insidious jokes! I am so _very_ disappointed in you, Jim. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think you’d get away with it?” 

His breath came heavy and fast. Jim’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any way out. “I - sir, I don’t know what you mean,” he whimpered.

“Oh, really?” Frank sneered. “Think really hard, James.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He saw the Sulus and Chekhov stand at the threshold apprehensively. “I - I really don’t -”

Frank slapped him across the face. “My car, Jim!” he shouted. “My brand-new hovercar that Prince Spock himself took from the barn. On his way back to the palace he stopped by and explained everything. He also said you attacked him.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jim said. His chest heaved with erratic breaths; he felt like he was drowning.

Frank’s eyes narrowed. “He said you were forceful. What did you say to him?” 

Jim swallowed. He looked across to Ben.

“I - I called him a thief. Sir.” 

“A thief?” Frank said, his upper lip trembling with barely suppressed rage. 

“I’m sorry!” Jim cried. “I didn’t recognize him!” 

A tense moment passed, then two. Suddenly Frank burst into laughter.

“Oh, poor Jim,” he said condescendingly. Jim cringed as his stepfather patted his head like a child. “You poor, backwards, country bumpkin. Of course you didn’t recognize the Prince.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Sulus breathe a sigh of relief.

“Now, I need to know exactly what happened,” Frank continued sternly, placing his hands behind his back. “What did you say? What did he say? And most importantly, did he mention Mark in any capacity?”

Still pressed against the chair, Jim trembled, adrenaline rushing through his veins. “N-no, sir,” he quivered. “He didn’t mention Mark. He said he needed the hovercar because his broke down, that’s all. I swear it.”

Frank harrumphed and turned around, opening his mouth as if to continue berating Jim. Yet when he saw the three servants standing in the doorway, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Ben stepped forward, still holding Hikaru’s hand. “They let me go, sir,” he said, jutting his chin out a little. “I worked off your - my debt. So they let me go.”

“Hm.” Frank frowned. “Alright. Well go… catch a chicken.”

Jim was about to follow the Sulus and Chekhov to the kitchen when Frank grabbed his arm again. He winced; it was sure to bruise tomorrow.

“Thankfully for you, Mark turned in a fantastic performance for the Prince,” he said, shoving Jim back down onto the chair. “Prince Spock was quite polite and very interested in Mark’s broach. I’m quite sure he’ll be back within the week to visit, so you’ll have to do some extra chores, won’t you, to make up for this morning’s incident? Hm?”

He kept his eyes lowered to the floor. “Yes, sir,” he said softly.

“We don’t want a Royal bottom sitting on a dirty chair, now do we?” Frank asked. His voice was patronizing, as if he was speaking to a child or a dog. 

“No sir,” Jim said.

Frank nodded and moved away. Jim took his chance and left the dining room. His heart was beating frantically in his chest. 

In the kitchen, Chekhov and the Sulus were pulled up close to the security feed. They started when Jim stumbled in, but grinned broadly when they saw him.

“Take a look at this,” Hikaru snorted, playing back the footage from earlier that morning.

_Prince Spock and his retinue stood before the farmhouse. Frank fluttered outside, welcoming them with a simpering smile._

_“Oh! Your Highness,” he gasped, bowing deeply. “What an honor! If we had known you would be stopping by I would have worn something finer than these rags.”_

“Rags my ass,” Hikaru sneered. “He sold your mother’s engraved China plates for that suit!”

_“Indeed,” Prince Spock replied, nodding his head to Frank. He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by squealing and the sound of heavy footsteps running out of the farmhouse. Mark and Jack erupted from the front door, tripping over each other to be presented to the Prince first._

_“Ah,” Frank said, forcing a smile. “Gentlemen. Here you are. Your Highness, I don’t believe you have been introduced to my son, Mark Howard von Ghent of the House of Ghent?” Mark demurely bowed, lifting his chin to flutter his eyelashes at the Prince. “And this is Jack,” Frank said flatly, gesturing toward his second son. Jack bowed neatly and beamed._

_Prince Spock nodded to them. “It has been many years since last we met,” Spock said. He squinted and peered at Mark’s chest. “That is an… interesting pin you have, sir.”_

_Mark smiled with false modesty and pushed his chest out to accentuate the split-pea green broach. “Oh, this old thing?” he murmured. “Why, I hardly know why I put it on this morning. You are too magnanimous, Majesty.”_

Pavel rolled his eyes and mimicked Mark’s words under his breath. Ben elbowed him in the ribs and hushed him sharply. 

“I want to watch the rest of this!” he hissed.

_The Captain of the guard coughed into his hand, and a beautiful woman who traveled with them covered her face - possibly to sneeze, although by the shaking of her shoulders she may have been laughing at him._

_“To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” Frank asked sweetly._

_Prince Spock gestured to one of his guards, who slowly drove a hovercar to the barn._

_“I am here to return your vehicle, Sir,” he said. His voice was low; he sounded tired, quite unlike he seemed in San Francisco a few hours later._

_Frank’s face was frozen in a smile. “Oh?” he said, his voice pitched. “Did it happen to run away?”_

_The Prince blinked. “No,” he said slowly, as though explaining something simple to a child for a second or third time. “I… borrowed it this morning as I drove through the area.”_

_“Well!” Frank exclaimed, the frozen smile becoming even more icy by the moment._

_“Yes, I quite apologize,” the Prince said, looking off to the side. “I did explain this all to your servant, though.”_

Jim sucked in a breath. The others turned to look at him curiously.

“The credit chip,” Hikaru whispered.

_“A servant, Your Highness?” Frank asked._

_“Yes, the blond boy. He was rather forceful,” Prince Spock said, touching his forehead._

_Frank frowned, the first sign that his mask was beginning to slip. “He’s mute, My Lord.”_

_One of the Prince’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he asked. “Well, he had quite a lot to say to me this morning.”_

_“It comes and goes,” Mark interrupted. He giggled and dipped his head at the Prince’s attention. Frank forced a smile back on his face and nodded._

_“Indeed, Your Highness. I do so apologize that you had to deal with him - he is but one of our many workers,” he said, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “If he caused you any problems at all -”_

_“No,” the Prince said forcefully. “That will not be necessary.”_

 

“Damn,” Chekhov breathed as Ben turned the monitor off. They sat in stunned silence. 

“We’ll all need to be very careful moving forward,” Hikaru warned. “I don’t know if the Prince will ever be around again, but if he was to recognize either you or Ben,” he said, voice tapering as he glanced to Jim.

“Plus, if Frank were to find out,” Chekhov said, rubbing his arms.

Jim squared his shoulders. “He won’t,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “We’ll be fine. It’ll be like this never happened. Besides,” he added with a grin, “what are the odds that any of us would ever run into the Prince again?”

\---

The echoes of marching footsteps bore into Spock’s skull. Escorted by Hendorf personally to see the King, he grit his teeth against the coming storm. Sarek would be more than unamused by his actions. Spock straightened his back even further, imagining a titanium rod running down his spine. He would need to be unflinching and tough in the face of his father’s displeasure. 

They rounded a sharp corner and walked into the King’s ready room, where he was surrounded by advisors of many species. Sarek waved them away; they bowed and melted into the hall.

“My son,” Sarek greeted his youngest child coldly. His nostrils flared, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise stoic face.

“Father,” Spock returned curtly.

The King stared his son down. “You are restricted to the palace grounds,” he said sternly. Spock’s eyes widened, but Sarek held his hand up. “I will continue to treat as a child any person who insists on acting like one.”

“A child?” Spock snarled. “Perhaps I am a child, father, but at least _I_ am not forcing a child into marriage.”

“Enough, both of you,” Queen Amanda’s tired voice rang out. He and Sarek turned away from each other, fuming in their own ways. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father extend two fingers toward his mother, a Vulcan kiss for married couples. Queen Amanda met his kiss coldly.

“Honestly, I may as well have married an emotional Human at this point,” she huffed, shooting a glare at her husband. “And you,” she said to Spock, whose lips quirked up into a secret smile, “you are just as juvenile. Running away? Truly, that was your answer?” 

“Wife,” Sarek said warningly. “Allow me to handle this.”

Queen Amanda crossed her arms and sat in one of the overstuffed chairs by a window. 

“Father, do you truly mean to punish me by keeping me under house arrest?” Spock asked, returning his attention to the King.

“I do.”

“And if I break your rules? What happens then? Will you send me away to Tarsus like some prisoner?” 

The queen gasped. “Your father would never, Spock,” she admonished.

Sarek’s face tightened, and Spock was not quite sure that was true.

“I shall simply deny you the crown and - and live forever,” Sarek said contemptuously. He then seemed to realize what he had said.

Spock pursed his lips. “Fine,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “I do not want your crown. I do not want your title. I do not want your power.”

“Oh, Spock,” Amanda sighed. She stood and came between them. “Please, do not fight. You know what it does to my poor heart.”

The Prince lowered his gaze. Sarek seemed abashed, as well. “I apologize, my wife,” he murmured.

“Spock, you must understand,” the queen continued, putting a soft hand on his arm. “You were born into privilege, and with that comes specific obligations.”

Closing his eyes, Spock silenced his arguments and quieted himself. “I apologize for my behavior, as it was immature,” he muttered to his mother, glancing over at his father briefly. “Yet I still protest this arrangement. I will have you understand as much, even if it means rebelling again.”

King Sarek’s eyes turned hard, and he nodded once, dismissing the Prince. Spock stalked away, determined to release some pent-up energy in the sparring rooms.

Hours later, when he had calmed himself once more and the night brought a cool, swelling breeze to the city, Spock sought his mother.

“Count George Kirk?” she asked dubiously. They were walking in the palace garden, one of Amanda’s most favorite spots. She oversaw the planting, weeding, watering, and feeding of every plant, and even did some of the dirty work herself. The queen loved all growing things; she had what Humans called “a green thumb,” though Spock thought it was a rather rudimentary and crude term.

“Yes,” Spock answered. “Do you know of him?” 

Amanda frowned, deep in thought. “I don’t believe so, my son. What’s this about?” 

Spock debated telling her what he’d seen. “I am not certain,” he admitted after a moment. “I met him today, and he was… quite fascinating.”

“And you’re sure he’s a courtier?” his mother pressed.

The Prince cocked an eyebrow. “What else could he be?” he countered. “Between his clothing and his fine speech -”

“I only meant that there are so many courtiers on this continent alone,” Amanda said gently. “It’s almost impossible to keep track of them all.”

He pursed his lips. Before he could speak, his father’s voice interrupted them.

“Spock,” he called out, walking toward his wife and son. 

Grinding his teeth, Spock turned. 

“I have decided to provide you with a compromise, if you should choose to comply,” the King said.

“You? Compromise?” Spock asked dubiously.

Sarek ignored him. “In one month’s time, I am going to hold a gala to celebrate Lieutenant Nyota Uhura’s work,” he said. “At that time, I will announce a marriage. Whether it is an arranged marriage between yourself and the Romulan, or between you and the person you pick, is up to you.”

“One month to choose a lifetime partner,” Spock muttered.

His mother placed a hand on his arm. “Anything is better than Romulus,” she pleaded.

Sarek shot her a look. “Do you agree to my terms, my son?” he asked.

Spock hesitated. “What choice do I have?” he said, resignedly. “Yes, I agree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *singsong voice* Spock's got it baaaad! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I really love Royalty AUs if you hadn't noticed (oops). They're such a weakness of mine!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank, Mark, and Jack learn about the Prince's ultimatum. Meanwhile, Jim and the Prince meet again. Can the servant keep his true identity hidden?

Wide and yawning, the sky opened brilliant and blue for the coming spring day. A fresh breeze sprang up and wound through the cornstalks, rustling silky tassels and rough leaves. It had been a week since the incident with Prince Spock and the hovercar, and Jim was more than ready to put it behind him. 

“Besides,” he complained to Chekhov, “he’s just so… arrogant!” 

They stood together near one of the beehives, a billowing smoker calming the buzzing insects as they scraped honeycomb into big barrels. Both were swathed in thick netting from the neck up and wore thick gloves. Jim used to love the beekeeping outfits as a young boy; he and Chekhov would play “Pirates and Starfleet” when they were younger, using the broad-brimmed hats with bee-repelling netting to pretend they were aliens from far away across the galaxy.

“Yes,” Pavel replied drily. “You’ve said that before.”

He shook his head and gathered the smoker, leaving the half-full barrel for Jim.

“Well,” Jim said defensively, picking up the barrel with a grunt, “it’s as true today as it was yesterday!”

“And the day before that, and the day before that,” his companion replied, rolling his eyes. “At least we’ll never have to worry about seeing him again.”

Jim fought the ache in his chest. “Unless Mark marries him,” he joked, trying to push his pesky feelings down.

“Bite your tongue,” Pavel frowned, glaring over his shoulder at Jim. “The only throne I want that boy on is the one I have to clean every day.”

\---

A knock at the door interrupted Frank’s afternoon game of cards. Frowning, he pushed away from the table and answered it himself.

“Good afternoon, kind sir,” a familiar voice purred from the entryway. 

Henry Mudd, Frank’s greasy informant inside the palace, stood draped in the entryway. He slid his arm up the doorframe in what appeared to be an attempt at seduction.

Frank’s body language changed immediately. He melted and smiled flirtatiously.

“Why, Henry,” Frank said coyly. “What ever are you doing here?” 

“I’ve got some information for you,” Mudd said. He waggled his eyebrows. “The Prince is to be married within the month.”

“What?” Frank asked sharply, his face reddening.

“It’s to be announced at a gala,” Mudd hurried. “In a month, the King is going to throw a party to celebrate Nyota Uhura, the famous linguist. At that time, Prince Spock must either declare a marriage between himself and a person he loves, or accept the arranged marriage to the Romulan General.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Well,” he said primly. “That doesn’t leave us much time now, does it?” 

Mudd shook his head. He leaned in closer and whispered, “There’s more.”

“Do tell,” Frank whispered back, taking a step forward.

Looking around dramatically to ensure there was no one else around to hear, Mudd said, “Prince Spock is going to spar tomorrow afternoon with Admiral Pike in San Francisco. It’s an invite-only event, and I’ve managed to get not one, not two, but _three_ invitations.” He flashed a PADD in front of Frank’s face, grinning. 

“Oh, Henry,” Frank cooed, shuffling even closer to the other man. “How very kind of you to think of a poor old widower like myself.” 

Mudd’s breathing picked up speed, but Frank wasn’t done. He traced a nonsensical line up the page’s chest to his nose and booped it. “What a thoughtful, charming, _lovely_ man you are.” 

He pressed two credit chips into Mudd’s hand and nuzzled his ear.

“One for the information,” he said, making his voice husky and deep. Mudd felt dizzy, like he might fall over. Frank’s breath ghosted over the shell of his ear, tickling him. “And one for being the best informant a man could ever ask for.”

Mudd shivered. When he walked away there was an uncomfortable hitch in his step.

A few moments later, Frank walked into the front sitting room with a smug expression on his face and a PADD in his hand. He greeted his sons who were draped over silk chaise lounges.

“I believe we’ll find this most diverting,” he said, smiling like a cat with cream.

Mark stood and snatched the PADD out of his father’s hand and stared at the screen. “Oh,” he breathed. “This is perfect.”

“What is it? Let me see!” Jack whined, tugging at Mark’s sleeve.

“A sparring match tomorrow and a gala at the end of the month,” Frank said. “And out of all the guests at the party, we shall have to make sure that _you_ have the finest outfit.”

Mark squealed and jumped up and down. “Oh, father,” he laughed. 

Jack stood. “I want to have a good outfit, too,” he pouted. 

“Yes, I’m sure you will,” Frank said dismissively. “Now come. Help us pick out the perfect suit for your brother.”

An hour later, they were no closer to finding the right arrangement.

“But what about this blue number? Prince Spock is said to favor the color blue,” Frank argued, holding a tailored suit up to Mark’s chest.

His eldest simply sighed and flopped onto the bed dramatically. “Yes, but every other courtier there will be wearing blue, as well!” he moaned. “I won’t stand out at the gala, father!”

“Very good thinking, my dear,” Frank grinned. Then he frowned and tapped his forehead. “Wait. Wait just a moment.”

“What?” Jack asked, looking up from where he was sitting on the floor. He had been diverting himself for the last half hour by buttoning up all the discarded shirts Mark had left on the floor.

Frank pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ve got it,” he whispered. “But you must tell no one.”

“Ooh, I do love a good intrigue!” Mark giggled. Jack jumped up and followed them down twisting hallways. They came to a door long unused. When it swung open, the boys’ eyes widened.

“Winona’s old room,” Frank explained, with a slightly wistful look. Then his eyes sharpened and he grinned, walking with purpose-filled strides to a large, wooden chest at the foot of the bed. He had to fiddle with the leather straps and metal clasps for a moment, grunting about _old-fashioned, rustic, ancient storage,_ and then it popped open.  
Jack and Mark vied for the best position to look into the chest. They both gasped at the same time.

“This was Jim’s father’s suit,” Frank said in a hushed tone. He took the jacket out and brushed the fabric with the back of his hand. “It was meant to be part of his dowry, should he ever get married.” 

Mark chuckled and brought the pants to his eye level, shaking them to get the creases out. “Little cinder-soot? Getting married? To who, a Gorn?” 

“It’s ‘to whom,’” Jack corrected absentmindedly, picking up the shiny, black shoes at the bottom of the trunk.

“It’s perfect, is what it is,” Mark said, shooting a glare to his younger brother. He eyed the Starfleet pins on the jacket his father held. “He was enlisted?” 

Frank nodded, looking out the window over the corn fields. “Yes. He died in the line of duty, according to Win. He was a hero.” He shook his head slightly and found Mark’s questioning gaze. “And now it’s time for this hot item to come back in circulation.”

“Father, don’t you think Jim might like to wear it to the party?” Jack asked, reaching out to touch the fabric of the pants.

Mark barked out a laugh. “Jack, be serious. Can you imagine little Jimmy at a _gala_?”

“A gala?” Jim’s voice startled them out of their conversation. He stood in the doorway, holding an armful of firewood. His eyes were wide, the picture of hopefulness. “You - you want me to go to a gala?”

Frank snatched the jacket away from Mark’s chest. “Of course!” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. “Honestly, James, it hurts me that you don’t feel like you’re one of my own sons.”

Jim shook his head earnestly and took a step forward. “Oh, no,” he said. “It’s not that. I just thought -”

“Well, that’s what you get for thinking,” Mark interrupted, wearing his most charming smile. “Really, Jim, it’s going to be quite the party. I’m sure you’ll love it. Maybe you’ll even see Prince Spock so you can recognize him. I’m sure he’s bound to come over more often, now that he and I have hit it off so well.”

Thankfully for Jim, his fierce blush was interpreted as shame at his rustic life. He shifted the firewood in his arms. “I’d like that,” he said shyly.

“Perfect! Then it’s settled,” Frank said. “As long as you get your chores done, and you don’t backtalk and be on your best behavior, we’ll all go together. As one big, happy family.”

Jack and Mark shared a giggling look. 

“And I’ll get to wear my father’s suit?” Jim asked. His face was the picture of bliss.

“Of course,” Frank faltered. He folded the jacket he held and stuffed it back in the trunk. “Even though it is quite old.”

“Archaic, even,” Mark chimed in.

“Practically an antique,” Jack said, tossing the shoes into the chest. 

Jim shrugged with a lopsided smile. “It’s my dad’s,” he said simply. “It’ll be good enough for me.” 

“Well.” Frank pursed his lips. “Why don’t you get started on those good behaviors, huh? Why don’t you go… pick us some more wildflowers. Enough for every one of the public rooms on the first floor.”

Jim nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“And make sure to dust the dining room extra well tonight,” Mark ordered. “Prince Spock might come by for dinner.”

“You don’t know that!” Jack said, furrowing his brows.

Mark tossed his head. “No, but a gentleman can dream,” he said airily.

“Well, then,” Jack fumed, “then, Jim, you - you - make sure my room is extra clean,” he commanded. “I want my floors scrubbed ‘til they shine.” His cheeks flushed redder and redder with every word until they were almost purple.

Jim flinched visibly as he imagined all that work. Mark just snorted. “Why? Do you expect Prince Spock to visit your chambers?” he mocked, pinching his brother’s side. Jack pulled his arm back to punch his older brother, but Frank intervened and ordered Jim out. 

“Really,” he reprimanded when Jim left. “Such behavior out of you two.”

“Jim’s not really going to the gala, is he, father?” Jack whined, rubbing his side.

“No,” Frank promised, eyes flashing. “I’ll make sure of it.”

\---

“Aren’t there lakes closer to the palace, Your Majesty?” Nyota Uhura asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Spock shifted and looked over his shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “I wished, however, to expose you to more of the continent.”

“Ah,” she said, a glint in her eye. “And this place you’re exposing me to, it wouldn’t happen to be near the little village you broke down in last week, would it?” 

The Prince stiffened and didn’t answer. Uhura giggled to herself and settled back.

When she had told Spock of her invention and the way she decided to test it out, Spock knew he had to join her. His father had extended the boundaries of his “house arrest” to the middle of the continent, and Spock immediately decided to capitalize on Sarek’s leniency. Hendorf drove them out in a large hovercar, and soon they were halfway to their destination.

Ever since Spock had confessed to Uhura the ignoble way he had been interrupted in his carjacking, she teased him mercilessly about the servant boy. It was almost like Michael was back from Denari Alpha, he mused. The Lieutenant seemed to be under the - very false - assumption that Spock was infatuated with the lad who attacked him with apples. He placed his hands deliberately on his knees to avoid the appearance of emotionalism. Of course that was absurd. A Prince would never have romantic feelings towards a commoner.

They arrived at Loon Lake, so named for its abundance of said birds, in the late morning. As he climbed out of the hovercar, Spock stretched and took a deep breath. It was already beginning to be a very warm day, and the humidity clung to his skin like a damp blanket.

“Ready, Your Highness?” Uhura called out. Spock dutifully helped bring her equipment down to the shore, trailing behind Hendorf. He skipped stones on the lake’s surface as Uhura fiddled with the last few aspects of her machinery.

“Lieutenant, may I ask you a question?” Spock called, facing away from her.

She laughed. “You just did,” she teased.

The Prince nearly rolled his eyes. “Another one, then.”

“Go for it.”

Spock paused to gather his thoughts. “Do you believe, as some Humans do,” he began, “that there is a mate for every person? One specific match made just for you?”

Uhura’s head popped up from behind her machine. “What’s this about?” she asked.

He ignored her question. “Or,” he continued, “do you believe that there are many potential mates for every individual? And, if the former, do you believe that it is always the case that one meets one’s match at the correct time? What if someone walked past their true mate, not even knowing it was them, and missed them for all time?”

The Lieutenant frowned. Spock wasn’t finished.

“Or, might it not be the case that someone was mated, happily, but their mate died. Then that person met another, and married them. Was the first their true mate, or the second? And if both mates were walking together and happened upon that person, which mate would be the better, the first or the second?” He hesitated, then said: “Ancient Vulcans believed in the concept of _t’hy’la_ \- soulmates, for lack of a better word. A _t’hy’la_ is a friend, brother, and lover. It is the truest, deepest bond a Vulcan can have, and it is said to be extremely rare.”

“Rare, huh?” Uhura grunted. “Do you know of anyone who’s had one?”

Spock shook his head.

“Are you getting yourself worked up because of this arranged marriage nonsense?” Uhura asked, scrunching her nose to look at Spock.

He growled and tossed a stone. It skipped twice, splashing loudly, and then sank into the water.

“Perhaps,” he admitted.

Uhura sighed and brought her machine to the water’s edge.

“Your Highness, I’m not sure if I believe in fate, or destiny, or _t’hy’la_ , or whatever you want to call it,” she said. “But if there is such a thing, don’t you think it has to be helped along sometimes?”

Spock glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Explain,” he said simply.

She sighed again and crossed her arms. “Nothing worthwhile comes easily. If you want something you have to go after it - especially if it’s some _one_ you want. Only you can tell for yourself if it’s the right time for anything, including marrying. No one else can tell you, because if they did, it wouldn’t be your own life, now would it?”

The Prince was silent. Then, “Does this advice come from personal experience, Lieutenant?” 

“Oh, yes,” Uhura laughed. “When I met my wife I almost immediately mucked it up. I could have let everyone else tell me how to live and what to do, but I made up my own mind. I married her.”

“Your wife?” Spock asked, curious. “I have not heard of her.”

“Haven’t you?” Uhura smiled. “My wife is T’Pring of the clan of T’Lao.”

He would have spluttered if he was a lesser Vulcan. “ _The_ T’Pring is your wife?” he asked incredulously. He skipped another stone.

His companion simply laughed again and shook her head at him. “Shall we begin, Your Highness?” she asked, then leaned down and flipped a switch. Immediately, one long strip of the water’s surface stilled completely. There was a distinct edge between where Uhura’s invention worked its wonders and the rest of the lake’s natural wind-skiffed waves. Spock’s stone, on its twelfth skip, skidded across the lake until it puttered to a stop on the opposite shore. 

His eyebrows rose. “Fascinating,” he said.

“Right?” Uhura asked, beaming. She stood next to him. “It uses sonic waves to create surface tension on a specific portion of the water. Once the machine is turned off, it’ll go back to normal. It only affects the topmost two inches of water, of course, so no marine life is harmed. But it should,” she grunted, slipping off her shoes, “make it easy to walk on.” 

Spock’s eyes widened. Uhura took one ginger step onto the surface of the water, then another, until her entire weight was held up by the surface tension created by her invention. She grinned widely at him. 

“As long as I don’t make any sudden movements, I should be alright!” she said cheerfully, and began to walk further out onto the lake. She paused and looked over her shoulder. “Would you like to join me?”

Spock shook his head vehemently. “Vulcans do not take so kindly to water,” he said.

Uhura laughed and continued her journey. 

The Prince considered her as she walked away from the shore. The Lieutenant seemed wise as well as knowledgeable. Her advice seemed… sound. Still, Spock wished he would have been given more practical advice. He had never really had to make a choice for himself before, and now that he was faced with one it was possibly the biggest in his life.

He folded his hands before him and inhaled deeply. Perhaps it was for the best, he mused. Perhaps waiting for the right person to come along was simply impractical, and he needed to embrace the arrangement between himself and the Romulan. 

But why must he alone be the one to bear such a burden, he thought bitterly. He had rarely asked for much, was never disobedient. Yet this felt like a punishment: quietly suffer an arranged marriage to someone of another species with whom he could never be compatible, then, someday, take the crown he never wanted upon King Sarek’s death. Spock felt familiar rage bubble under his skin, but before he could ponder on it too long he was pulled back to the present by a faint voice speaking in the distance. He focused his stellar hearing. It sounded like the Lieutenant - then a scream answered her, and a heavy splash. Spock strained his eyes to see what could possibly be happening. A moment later, he got his answer.

Uhura, soaking wet and laughing, waded to the shore with a young man clutching at her arm. Spock squinted; then, when he saw who it was, nearly gasped.

“George!” he called.

\---

Jim had been out in the meadows, picking bouquets of wildflowers. He sighed, wrapping twine around the last one. He laid it down reverently next to its brothers, then rolled his shoulders and sighed again. His eyes wandered to Loon Lake longingly. It was already so warm, and he had left to gather flowers right after he chopped firewood. He fingered the hem of his cotton shirt. 

Well, what Frank didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?

Jim stripped down to black boxer briefs and laid his clothes carefully out in the sunshine next to six skillfully crafted bouquets. The lake, only a few hundred meters away, lured him with the sweet song of gentle waves lapping on the shoreline. He stepped into the water, sighing in bliss as the cool water brushed against his bare legs. Soon he was floating on his back, smiling as the sun caressed his skin. Slow, steady strokes took him further and further from the shore. He hummed a quiet, carefree tune. Everything else fell away; in the middle of the lake he didn’t have to worry about Frank, or the gala, or any other thought that weighed him down.

Something blocked the sun from his face. Opening his eyes, Jim expected to find a puffy cloud, perhaps portending rain. Instead, he saw a woman’s face smiling down at him.

“Beautiful day,” she said, waving.

The sound Jim made was rather undignified, and he was sorry he’d reacted so loudly almost immediately. The woman, who appeared to be standing on top of the water, jerked backward and squealed, falling into the lake.

Spluttering and laughing, she came to the surface just as Jim righted himself.

“I’m so sorry!” he gasped. 

The woman simply grasped his arm and led him toward the shore. “It’s no problem,” she laughed. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

They approached the shore, talking and giggling like old friends. Jim’s head turned when he heard a cry from the beach. It was Prince Spock, calling out for George.

Jim’s heart sank and skipped a beat. Panicked, he slipped on a rock just as the Prince waded in to meet them, heedless of the now soaked hem of his robes.

“Your Highness!” Jim said faintly. He struggled to stand even as Prince Spock wrapped his warm, dry tunic around Jim’s bare shoulders. “Oh, ah, thank you. Please do be careful there, it’s rather… slippery,” he said, blushing.

The Prince’s eyes, warm and brown in the sunlight, crinkled in the corners ever so slightly. “Please, come sit and warm yourself,” he said, placing his hand on top of the tunic around Jim’s arm and leading him to shore.

Hendorf brought an emergency heater from the hovercar and started it despite Jim’s protestations that the sun would warm him sooner or later. Prince Spock nodded to Hendorf, who bowed slightly and walked back to the vehicle. Uhura stood some distance away, wringing her garments out and laying them in the sun.

“Where are your servants, sir?” the Prince asked.

Jim turned his head, surprised. “Oh, I - I let them have the day off,” he said.

One pointed, black eyebrow rose. “‘Have the day off?’” Prince Spock asked. “From what, life?” 

“Don’t you get tired of having people wait on you every day?” Jim scoffed.

“Indeed,” the Prince said after a moment of hesitation. “However, it is what servants are for. It is what they do.”

Snorting, Jim turned away. “Yes, well, I wish I could dismiss mine as easily as you do yours,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” the Prince asked, leaning forward.

“It’s nothing,” Jim said, shaking his head. He stood. “I should go.”

“George - Count Kirk.” The Vulcan stood with him. “Pardon my inquiry but - am I to understand that you are angry with me?” 

Jim tightened his hold around the outer tunic wrapped around him. “No, Your Highness,” he said curtly. “I can have this sent back to your palace -”

“You are,” Prince Spock wondered. He stared at Jim. “What is it that I have done to anger you?” 

“I’m not - it’s - it’s nothing, really,” he sighed.

The Prince cocked one eyebrow.

“Alright, if you must know,” Jim huffed. “You’re trying to bait me with your snobbery.”

“Snobbery?” Prince Spock repeated. Both eyebrows now rested near his hairline. “I am afraid you must explain yourself, Count, for you appear to be a walking contradiction.”

“Me?” Jim asked, furrowing his brow. “In what way?” 

Prince Spock folded his arms behind his back. “You quote _Utopia_ to Royalty, and yet you live the life of a courtier,” he said, the beginnings of a smug smile tracing his lips.

“And _you_ own everything in the Federation, yet you take no pride in your ownership,” Jim shot back. He ripped the tunic off his shoulders and handed it back to the   
Prince. “Is that not also a contradiction?” 

The Prince tilted his head, distracted by the expansive canvas of warm, Human skin before him. Jim blushed, but continued to hold the tunic out for him to take. 

“First I am arrogant, and now I have no pride. Fascinating.” The Prince did not take the tunic.

Jim pursed his lips together. “You have everything in the galaxy at your fingertips, but for you none of it holds joy. Yet you belittle those who would see those things for their possibilities.”

He squirmed under the Prince’s heavy gaze. 

“How do you do it?” the Vulcan asked softly.

“Do what?” 

“How do you live each day with such… passion? Is it not tiresome?” 

Jim tried not to smile. “Only when I’m with you,” he promised. “Why do you irritate me so?”

Prince Spock leaned in ever so slightly. “Why do you rise to the occasion?” he asked.

Jim giggled, then clapped a hand over his mouth. The Prince seemed pleased with himself.

“Well, do you gentlemen have time to help a lady out with her inventions?” Uhura called behind them. She held aloft a giant, canvas kite, grinning widely.

“Time,” Jim breathed, then shoved the tunic into Prince Spock’s arms. “I apologize, I - I have forgotten the hour,” he said, walking away.

The Prince took a step forward, alarmed. “But -” he protested, just as Uhura said, “The wind is perfect, though!”

Jim shook his head and turned, breaking into a jog. “I’m sorry!” he called back.

“Wait!” The Vulcan Prince’s voice called out behind him. “I am sparring with Admiral Pike tomorrow in San Francisco; will you come?” 

“I must go!” Jim shouted, waving behind him as he wove through the trees.

When he finally stopped, he put his hands on his hips and leaned over, panting heavily. He was close to where his clothes and the bouquets were. Jim walked the rest of the way, turning things over in his mind. It was true, Prince Spock was very annoying and arrogant, and made Jim frustrated when he spouted nonsense. But he was also kind, and attractive, and very intelligent.

He paused. No, he told himself firmly. He must not get such thoughts in his head. He had to put this all behind him and never think of the Prince that way again. It wouldn’t do - a commoner falling in love with a Prince! He snorted and derided himself all the way to his original starting spot. As he pulled his clothes on and gathered the bunches of wildflowers, Jim scolded himself soundly and vowed to never think about the Prince ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I noticed like halfway through writing this that in TOS, Mudd's first name is actually Harry. But I was too lazy to change it, so it's Henry Mudd now. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock despairs that the end of the month will find him wed to the Romulan. Meanwhile, Jim butts heads with the manipulative, greasy Khan.

Stars burned in the inky fabric of the night sky when Frank and his sons ate dinner. It was usually a mostly silent affair, broken only by demands for more food or drink. Jim stood in the corner nervously; both Frank and Mark had been unusually chatty tonight.

“James. Wine,” Mark ordered, holding his cup aloft. Jim scrambled from his alcove and hurried to his stepbrother’s side. 

Frank cleared his throat and tapped gently at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Hikaru, where in the galaxy are the genuine silver cutlery?” he asked. “I can barely cut through the meat with this dull knife.”

Hikaru suppressed his scowl. “They’re missing, sir,” he said. “I’ve searched, but I can’t find them anywhere.”

“Shocking,” Frank murmured, looking from Mark to Jack. “So this is how I am to be treated after all our years together. My late wife’s prized possessions, stolen! Well. I will have to simply garnish your wages until the cutlery returns. Is that understood?” He shot a glare at Jim.

“Yes, sir,” they murmured together.

Mark smirked and took a bite of his vegetables. “Perhaps we’ll have you shipped to Tarsus with all the rest of the thieves,” he said around a mouthful of green beans.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Jack asked brightly, moving his salad around with his fork. “The Prince asked the King to release every servant who was sold to Tarsus for hard labor.”

“He didn’t,” Jim gasped. Frank frowned at him, and he stepped back into the shadows.

“Yes, he did!” Jack said. Then, catching his father’s angry glance, dropped his eyes to his plate. “The… the King has decreed that everyone who is consigned to Tarsus to work off their debts must be compensated.” 

“Compensated!” Frank said, laughing. He pushed a bite-sized piece of meat around his plate. “Honestly. What is the world coming to?” 

Jack shook his head sympathetically as Pavel, Hikaru, and Jim traded glances over their heads.

“What I want to know is, who is this new Count that everyone can’t seem to stop talking about?” Mark mumbled. His fork clattered to the plate as he sighed dramatically. “No one knows where he’s come from or who he is. I must have heard from ten courtiers today talking about how the Prince was practically falling all over him.” 

Jim smiled secretly to himself, then glanced over at Pavel and Hikaru. Their lips were pursed and they looked ready to laugh out loud.

Frank was not so amused. “We shall just have to find out who he is and bury him,” he said. Jim’s knees buckled in surprise; he caught himself only after he knocked over an empty bottle of wine.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, and slipped out of the room.

\---

A crowd of people gathered at the edges of the recreation room. Admiral Pike had evidently picked it out, as Prince Spock looked vaguely uncomfortable with the area. Jack practically vibrated with delight as he held onto his father’s arm.

“Now remember, my son,” Frank whispered into his ear. “We are here to support Mark in his hunt for a Royal husband.” 

Jack wilted. “I know,” he muttered. 

Frank nodded as the Prince greeted his adversary in the middle of the mat. 

“Where is Mark anyway?” Jack groused as the two men began to circle each other.

“I’m not sure,” Frank murmured, watching Prince Spock grapple Admiral Pike to the ground in a quick movement. His eyes gleamed as the Prince rolled with the Admiral almost to the edge of the mat.

The crowd gasped as Pike used the Prince’s movement against him and threw him to the spectators. Everybody pressed in close as Prince Spock struggled to stand, shrugging helping hands off of his person.

“Is this yours, Sire?” a velvety voice asked innocently. The Vulcan Prince looked up to see Mark holding one of his black gloves. He frowned, looking from his bare hand to the glove.

“Thank you,” the Prince said. He hesitated, then bowed slightly. “You are looking well, sir,” he added.

Mark practically purred. “You’re welcome to look, Your Majesty.” 

Jack bit back a yelp as Frank gripped his arm hard.

After the sparring match, which Prince Spock won handily, he offered to walk around the local farmer’s market with Mark and his family as a kind gesture for returning his glove. Frank readily assented, graciously allowing Mark and the Prince to walk ahead, keeping Jack restrained some way behind.

“Would you care for some, Your Highness?” Mark asked sweetly, holding a treat in his fingers. He’d picked it up from the last stall they stopped at. 

Prince Spock furrowed his brow slightly, but held out his gloved hand. Mark withdrew teasingly, laughing ever so gently at him. He moved forward, stepping into the Prince’s personal space, placing the treat on his lips. Mark’s fingers barely brushed against Prince Spock’s tongue as he took it in his mouth, surprised at the intimate gesture.

Mark, blushing in triumph, turned to his father to celebrate. Unfortunately, his back was turned to the Prince when he coughed the sweet back up.

“My apologies,” Prince Spock hiccuped, blushing jade over his cheeks. “That was chocolate, to which all Vulcans are allergic.” 

“Oh, Your Highness, that was my mistake,” Mark rushed, eyes wide. “I just thought, with your Human side -” 

The Prince stiffened, and Mark flushed bright red. “No, I just meant - I’m so sorry,” he stuttered. Behind them, Frank grit his teeth.

“This is gonna be a long day,” Jack muttered.

\---

Frank, Mark, and Jack were not the only guests from Riverside to San Francisco. The Sulus, Chekhov, and Jim were told to pack their wares for the Capital Farmer’s Market and make themselves useful during the sparring match. Squeezing into a third-class carriage, the four servants found themselves uncomfortably cramped alongside other laborers, as well as multiple farm animals and hundreds of crates of produce. 

When they arrived, the Sulus set up the stall while Pavel and Jim unloaded the vegetables, fruits, and assorted dairy products they brought for the market. They laughed and joked together, cheerful in a way they never could be when Frank or his sons were around. 

They had a steady stream of customers, but it was nothing compared to the neighboring stalls selling marine products.

“Shellfish!” one man yelled. “Get your shellfish here!”

“Veila oysters,” another person called out. “Veila oysters, on sale - only found on Ghe’den II, shipped here special.”

“Damn,” Chekhov sighed, bringing another crate of cheeses over to the Sulus. “We’re never gonna get enough to make up for the all the stuff that’s missing around the house.”

“Especially not if you keep telling the Baron when all of it mysteriously disappears,” Ben scolded, pinching Pavel’s ear. “I don’t like having my already shit wages garnished. Keep it up and we’ll be paying Frank to work.”

Hikaru patted his husband’s arm distractedly. “At least he hasn’t told them about the missing rugs in the east wing,” he said.

They were interrupted by a loud thud. Something slammed on the table right in front of Jim, who was sorting through the winter turnips. He had seen their customer coming and grit his teeth, continuing to work despite the Sulus jumping in the air with surprise.

“James Tiberius Kirk,” the man said. His voice was husky and deep, and would have been pleasing to hear if it was attached to anyone else. “You get positively prettier every time I see you.”

“Viscount Khan.” Jim greeted him without looking up from his work. “You waste your flattery as usual.”

Khan tsked and placed a hand on top of the crate Jim was working in. “It’s a pity your land is some of the best and most fertile on the continent, and yet…” he paused, leaning in. “Yet so poorly tended.”

The Viscount’s men, rough looking fellows with at least fifty pounds on any of them, snickered and nudged each other.

Hikaru and Ben exchanged panicked looks, but Chekhov sniffed. “We have limited resources, sir,” he said impatiently. “We do the best we can.”

Laughing, Khan walked around the stall until he was hip to hip with Jim.

“Anything I can do?” he asked, batting his eyelashes innocently. 

Jim turned away to restock cold bottles of fresh milk. Hikaru placed his hands on his hips and tried to look as intimidating as possible. 

“Perhaps you should bring it up with Baron von Ghent,” he said. “And simply do your shopping like everybody else.”

Khan growled at him. “I’d like to speak with Jim please, if you don’t mind.” He walked around the stall to face Jim directly, and the fact that there was a large dairy crate between   
them didn’t make the younger man feel that much better. 

“I may be twice your age, James, but I’m well-endowed,” the Viscount continued, smirking. He spread his hands innocently. “As evidenced by my vast estates. You know I’ve always had a soft spot for the less fortunate. And you need… a wealthy benefactor. As for me,” he chuckled darkly, “I need a young man with spirit.” 

“Milk?” Jim asked, forcing a smile on his face as he presented Khan with a cold bottle.

“No,” Khan said through grit teeth. “I’ll buy nothing from you this time. Just remember - without my help, your measly little farm would go belly up like Neusaeux’s week-old codfish. So I would be very, very, very careful if I were you.”

With a jerk of his head, Khan led his men away. They shambled through the market, leaving a swath of shaking heads and disgruntled stall managers in their wake. Jim sighed heavily and collapsed on the ground. Ben squatted while Hikaru and Pavel hovered around him, anxiously wringing their hands.

“Jim, are you okay?” Ben asked. He squeezed Jim’s arm and brushed stray hair from his forehead. 

“No,” he confessed. Jim could feel his limbs shaking. “But it’s alright.”

“It’s not!” Hikaru cried, tears springing to his eyes. “I just want to - I don’t know, spit on that horrible man. He should treat you with respect, Jim, not like some - some - some meat on display.”

“I think he treats meat better than that,” Jim joked weakly.

Hikaru crossed his arms. “You know what I mean,” he said. “You’re the son of George and Winona Kirk, heroes of the galaxy! Starfleet’s best and brightest. You deserve more than sexual harassment at some farmer’s market on Terra.”

Pavel nodded vehemently. Jim smiled faintly and ducked his head. He would be lost without his second family.

\---

For all of his Vulcan control, Spock still wanted to scream. No more than thirty minutes into the walk with the von Ghent family, he had been almost poisoned, reminded of his half-breed status by one of the lowest nobles in the land, and, to top it all off, yelled at by a stall marketer. He wondered if requesting Mark’s presence on a walk through the city was such a bright idea after all.

Spock had to remind himself why he was doing it in the first place. _Anything’s better than Romulus,_ he heard his mother say again. Anything? Really? Spock was beginning to doubt Queen Amanda’s wisdom.

“Oh, Your Majesty,” Mark interrupted the Prince’s train of thought. “Here is our farm’s stall. These are our servants.”

Yet another mark against the von Ghents. They kept servants, and, while all servants in the Federation were paid at least a meager wage, those designated as ‘land shareholders’ struggled to survive outside of their landlords’ generosity. In essence, they were slaves.

“Indeed?” Spock said, managing to keep his voice cool. They turned aside to visit the stall. 

The first two people he saw were clearly a couple - practically joined at the hip, their expressions mirrored each others’ exactly despite not looking at the other. Currently, they both looked like they had seen a ghost.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Spock greeted them. He saw no reason to be unnecessarily unkind to those of a lower class than he.

A third servant turned to look at him, just as shocked as the first two. This young lad had a mop of curly brown hair and bright brown eyes, and appeared horrified to see him.

“Chekhov, pick your jaw up off the floor,” Frank chuckled jokingly, but the threat in his voice made Spock’s brow raise.

The Prince had just turned back to the stall when a fourth servant came around the corner holding a chicken. Or perhaps he imagined it, for just as he looked at them, the chicken was thrown in his face, clucking and flapping its useless wings even as he brought his hands up to ward off the concerned poultry.

“Your Highness!” Frank and Mark cried simultaneously, while the servants rushed to pull the chicken off of him.

“How dare you!” Frank yelled at the three men standing behind the stall. Spock brushed feathers off his tunic. “What were you trying to do, scare the Prince to death?”

“No, sir,” the youngest servant said, shaking his head. “We were startled, that’s all.”

Spock squinted. “Were there just the three of you?” he asked.

“And the chicken, Your Majesty,” the shorter of the couple offered, holding up the scared bird as if providing evidence.

Unconvinced but not in the mood to investigate further, Spock waved his guard forward and politely excused himself from Mark’s presence, citing a need for meditation and a scheduled meeting. Neither was a lie; Spock truly did need to meditate after such a draining day, and he did have “sleep” scheduled in his calendar. Exhausted, though he would never show it, the Prince trudged to his room in the palace and inhaled deeply, preparing his body for its daily meditation ritual.

\---

Back at the farmhouse, the four servants quietly whispered amongst themselves in the kitchen before bedtime. The main fuel cell was turned off to cut costs, so they shivered in the dark as an unusually cold night fell outside.

“That was much too close,” Hikaru said, wrapping his arms around himself. “The Prince could have recognized you, Jim.”

“I know,” Jim groaned, rubbing his face. “God, what a horrible thought.”

Pavel chuckled. “Brilliant thinking with the chicken, though.”

Jim shrugged and wrapped a well-worn sweater closer around his shoulders. “I wish I could take credit for that,” he said. “It was just heat-of-the-moment. I turned around and he was there, staring at me. It was involuntary.”

Ben shuddered, pulling his husband closer. “And thank stars it was,” he said. “Who knows what might have happened otherwise?” 

They stilled as a shrill voice called for Jim upstairs.

“I think Frank needs more firewood,” Jim whispered, hopping off of his stool. 

Hikaru made a face. “That man goes through more firewood than an ancient American,” he complained. “I’d bet the farm he uses enough of it to heat this whole house three times over in the winter.”

Ben laughed quietly. “How else would he maintain the rustic farmhouse aesthetic, my love?” he asked, kissing Hikaru’s temple. 

Jim gathered a stack of firewood and shuffled out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you guys in the morning,” he said over his shoulder.

“Don’t stay up too late reading!” Ben called after him. It was a pointless reminder; Jim would stay up until the wee hours of the morning and run on little to no sleep if it meant reading even a few sentences before bed. 

When he arrived upstairs, Jim ducked his head and lowered his gaze as he always did around Frank. He had learned long ago to never make eye contact with his stepfather, even if he was in one of his seeming good moods. Frank was currently lounging on the grand bed, wearing a thick robe and a Cheshire grin.

“There you are,” he said, and his voice was cross even though his smile remained fixed. “I thought I might die of cold before any of you arrived.”

Jim simply stooped to build up a flame in the ancient fireplace and said nothing.

Frank sighed loudly and sat up on his bed. “Isn’t it wonderful? Prince Spock doting on Mark like he did today?” he said dreamily. “I absolutely must press for a quick engagement, and then - oh, can you imagine? A summer stay in New New York, or Old London, or even off-planet?” 

Finished with the basics of building up the fire, Jim turned around to smile. He could imagine, actually. It would be so wonderful having all three of them out of the house, someone else’s problem, while he and the Sulus and Chekhov and Bones had the run of the farm. They could make it something great again, turn it around from the edge of ruin.

“No,” Frank said drolly. “No, I guess you can’t. Too grand for a servant to imagine, I suppose.” 

Jim frowned, but didn’t contradict him.

Frank caught his wrist as he turned to leave. Jim stood still, obediently waiting for the next command. Instead of speaking, Frank’s eyes sought his out. He seemed to be attempting to pierce through his stepson’s mind.

“My father was quite harsh on me, as well,” he said softly. Jim froze. This was unlike any of their conversations. “He never thought I was good enough and punished me if I didn’t wash my hands and my face at least twenty times a day. But I loved him, and I am grateful for him.” He paused and dropped Jim’s hand. “He wanted me to be all I could be - and   
here I am, a Baron, with my eldest son practically engaged to a Prince.”

Though he was trembling, Jim forced himself to stand still. Why would Frank tell him any of this? Unless he had been drinking, he realized, and scanned his stepfather for signs of inebriation. 

“You look so much like your mother,” Frank whispered. He searched Jim’s face with an intensity Jim had never seen before. “There must be some resemblance to your father in there, somewhere.” 

Jim slowly lowered himself to sit on the very edge of Frank’s bed. “I wish I knew what he looked like,” he said quietly. He knew Frank had erased or burned every single one of his mother’s old holos of his father. He barely even remembered Winona's face.

Frank blinked, and it seemed he was brought back to the present moment. “Yes, well,” he said briskly, “one must never feel sorry for oneself. No matter how bad things get, it could always be worse.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim whispered. He stood again. Then he hesitated and turned back around. He had to ask.

“Sir?” 

“Hm?” 

Jim bit his lip nervously. “Did you love my mother?” he asked softly.

The fire crackled behind them, completely ignored. Frank was frozen in place, staring down at his hands. 

“Well, I barely knew her,” he said stoically. He roused himself, but still didn’t look at Jim. “Now, go away. I’m tired.”

Jim retreated from the farmhouse, feeling emptier than he had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, halfway done already! Anybody else wish they could just [redacted] Khan in the [redacted]? Yeah, me too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks fly between Jim and Prince Spock, but Frank begins to suspect something is wrong.

Another week passed after the incident at the farmer’s market. Jim had been unusually quiet for the first few days, and the Sulus chalked it up to his horrible interaction with Khan. Chekhov wasn’t so sure.

“It’s the Prince,” he declared confidently when Jim wasn’t around. “He’s in love.”

“Hush yourself,” Hikaru scolded, peeling potatoes by the sink. 

Ben grunted. “He’ll tell us on his own time,” he promised. 

Jim’s usual gregariousness gradually reasserted itself over time, and by Friday he was back to normal. That morning, gray and dewy in the early dawn light, found him and Ben toiling in the farthest corn field. A pesky marmot infestation had to be dealt with. By the time they finished, around noon, both were exhausted and ready for a heavy lunch.

“What’s that?” Ben asked. He was leaning on a pitchfork, wiping sweat off his brow. Jim shielded his eyes and squinted to look at the tree Ben indicated.

“A kite?” Jim frowned. A flicker of a memory nagged at the back of his mind; something about Lieutenant Uhura and his time with Prince Spock at the lake. He ignored the thought, clambering up the tree’s thick limbs despite Ben’s protestations. “I think it _is_ a kite,” he declared, holding it aloft. 

Ben scratched his head. “How’s it work? There’s no string,” he said.

Jim found what looked like a headpiece attached to the bottom of the kite. He tried it on, mostly to fool around, but the kite immediately powered up, solar panels flaring to life with bright yellow light.

“Cool,” he grinned. “A kite powered by thought!”

“Thought?” Ben asked doubtfully.

Focusing his mind, Jim silently ordered the kite to move. Slowly but surely, it lifted off the ground and hovered above them.

Jim whooped. “That’s so awesome!” he shouted. 

Ben shook his head. “Don’t mess with it, Jim,” he warned. “It’s not yours, and you don’t know whose it is.” 

Sheepishly, Jim took the headpiece off. The kite crashed to the ground. 

They gathered it up and trudged back to the farmhouse, where Hikaru fussed over them and fed them a big lunch. With all of the chores for the day done and Frank, Mark, and Jack gone into the city, Jim was free to spend his time any way he wanted.

“So tell me again why the hell you’re out here botherin’ me?” Bones groused. He lay on his back under a tree in the meadow near the farmhouse, one of his bulky anatomy books propped on his stomach. 

Jim laughed. He fitted the headpiece on once more. It had been a little tricky to sneak it past Ben, but as soon as he and Hikaru had ‘retired early’ for the day, Jim knew he would be in the clear. 

“Because you’re my best friend, Bones!” Jim said. He focused and got the kite to hover, then shift left. “And because this is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“It’s probably poisonin’ your mind,” Bones muttered.

Ignoring him, Jim continued to test the kite’s abilities. Eventually, he got it to do curly-cues in the air, loop around the tree, and even lunge at Bones. The doctor-in-training did not appreciate that as much as Jim did.

“Damn machine,” Bones swore, angrily swatting it away. “Just ‘cause you’re all cut up about Prince Spock doesn’t mean you have to physically harm me about it!”

Jim blushed, and the kite jackknifed into the ground. “What?” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not -”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Just admit it,” he said. “We watched you moon over him this week. You got a crush, Jim Kirk.”

Jim denied it, watching the kite soar into the sky. “I don’t like him romantically like that. At all. In fact, I wish he’d marry Mark.”

“Bullshit,” Bones deadpanned.

“It’s true,” Jim insisted. He circled the kite around his body, concentrating hard. Then he sent it across the meadow, near the far barn. 

Opening his mouth to speak, Bones’ eye caught movement on the horizon. A hovercar, speeding on the highway, turned abruptly toward the meadow on a country road that led away from the farmhouse. He squinted, then widened his eyes. The Royal seal on the hood gave away the driver’s identity.

“Oh, so if, say, Prince Spock came around right now,” Bones said, never taking his eyes off the vehicle, “you’d just tell him -”

“I’d tell him,” Jim said emphatically, his back to Bones. “My family is yours, Your Highness. Please, take them away.”

Bones grunted. “Well, here’s your chance.”

The hovercar’s engine thrummed, first faintly and then louder as it got closer. Jim spun around, eyes wide. He squeaked and ran behind the tree Bones sat under. The kite hovered over the barn.

Only a moment later, the hovercar parked meters from the tree. Bones sat there, unbothered. Prince Spock climbed out, looking at the kite.

“Good day,” the Prince said politely. “Can you please tell me where Nyota Uhura is?”

Bones shuffled to his feet and made a slight bow. “Uh, the Nyota Uhura, sir?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “I ain’t seen her around here.”

The Prince cocked his head to look at the kite. “Is that not her invention?” he asked.

Jim winced and ripped the headpiece off. The kite plummeted to the ground. 

“Er.” Bones scratched his head as he tried to think of an excuse. “Oh! Uh, yes, she gave that to a friend, I believe,” he said loudly. “Uh, George Kirk?” 

“George?” the Prince repeated softly. Then, more forceful: “Please, do you know where he is? I have been attempting to find him for days.”

“I _believe_ ,” Bones said, enunciating loud and clear, “that George Kirk is staying with a cousin. Yes. The Baron von Ghent and his sons?” 

A cloud of revulsion passed over Prince Spock’s face only momentarily. He schooled it back into placid impassivity. “Ah,” he said. “That is unfortunate.”

Bones cleared his throat. “If I’m not mistaken,” he said, “George Kirk is there right now. Alone. Without the Baron or… others.”

Prince Spock’s eyes shone. “Thank you for your help,” he said. Pausing, his gaze flitted to the anatomy textbook lying on the ground. “An excellent field of study,” he said. “I believe many Humans wish luck upon each other in their endeavors.” 

He walked back to the car and began to drive away. Jim peeked out from behind the tree trunk. 

“Bones!” he hissed. “You horrible snipe!”

“He wished me luck becomin’ a doctor,” Bones grinned. He put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest up. “Not that I need it,” he bragged. “But it’s always nice to hear.”

Jim snapped his fingers in his best friend’s face. 

“Hello?” he said. “This is about me. You’ve put me in such a horrible position!”

“Well, I guess you better start running then,” Bones laughed. 

Jim fought a grin and lost. He stuck his tongue out, then started off in a dead sprint.

If he went fast enough, Jim could cut across the fields and make it back to the farmhouse before Prince Spock could drive to it. Because of the way the twisting, unpaved roads led from the meadow to the house, it would hopefully take the Prince much longer to get there than Jim.

Of course, Jim thought, panting as a stitch formed in his side, he _did_ seem anxious to get to George rather quickly. 

He poured on even more speed.

As he ran through the doorway into the kitchen, Jim shouted for Hikaru and Pavel’s help, sweating and panting from the exertion. He cut through the dining room, anxiously watching the Prince’s hovercar pull up the lane. 

\---

Spock made a mental note to thank Uhura later when he had the chance. She had asked him to accompany her to an ancient monastery on the northern shores of Lake Huron. Apparently they had a library she was interested in. Spock had not necessarily wanted to go, but it was as good excuse as any to get out of the palace. 

She asked him to meet at Loon Lake, as she was experimenting with a new invention that had to do with brain waves and flight. He agreed, but when he arrived at their predetermined location, she was nowhere to be found. Spock waited for a few minutes, then spotted her invention hovering a few miles away. When he went to investigate, he found a most delightful Human who was able to tell him where Count George Kirk was. He sped toward the farmhouse, pursing his lips at the dirt road and the amount of potholes it contained. When he was king, he would order all roads to be even and smooth, if not paved.

_Wait - when I become king?_ Spock paused. The hovercar slowed with his mind. He had never thought ahead in such a way before - imagining himself King of the Federation, able to wield power and do so for the greater good. What changed? 

Spock knew exactly what had caused the change. In the privacy of his vehicle, he allowed a small smile.

The usual feeling of dread that accompanied thinking about or arriving at the von Ghent household was missing as he pulled into the lane. Spock parked the hovercar and forced his heart rate to slow. Perhaps the man had been misinformed, and George had left with his cousins. Perhaps George did not reciprocate his feelings and would be scandalized by the Crown Prince of the Federation calling on him with such short notice. Perhaps -

The front door opened as Spock pulled his fist back to knock. He blinked.

“Count Kirk,” he said, and he couldn’t help the small quirk of his lips in that moment.

The Human looked beautiful, if slightly out of breath. He wore casual clothes; pants that fit him tightly, but well, a black button-up shirt, and a faux-leather jacket. Spock couldn’t help but notice that whatever he wore, whether it be an expensive suit, casual civilian clothes, or next to nothing at all, George looked… fantastic.

“Your Majesty,” George greeted. His cheeks were flushed, and Spock could smell sweat and faint perfume. “What are you doing here?”

Spock at least had the decency to cast his gaze down and look abashed. “I had not planned it,” he confessed. “I was supposed to meet with Lieutenant Uhura at Loon Lake, and   
from there travel to the Huron Monastery. However, I could not find her, and was told that you would be here.” He paused. “Do you not go into town to revel with other Humans as is traditional?” 

George flushed, just a shade deeper than previous. “Oh, I… I don’t like going out that much,” he said. “I find my entertainment just fine in the solitude.” 

“And I as well,” Spock said, feeling his lips twitch with the desire to smile once more. Fascinating. 

“But you’re more than welcome to come inside,” George said, eyes widening. “I didn’t mean -”

The Prince shook his head, speaking over the Human. “No, that - I did not -”

They stared at each other. George giggled. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What were you saying, Your Highness?” 

Spock’s eyes softened. “Would you come with me?” he asked.

George tilted his head. “Come with you? To the monastery?”

He nodded. George smiled, soft and just for him. Spock’s heart nearly jumped in his side.

“I’d like that,” he said.

\---

As was usual on a Friday, San Francisco was packed. All kinds of races from all over the galaxy were represented in the Capital. Most were here to celebrate the weekend, to party and forget and dance until the sun climbed high in the sky. That was why the von Ghents were there, anyway.

“Keep up,” Frank called, hurrying through the crowds. Mark and Jack struggled to make their way behind him. “I don’t want to be late.”

“We’re already late, father,” Jack complained, stumbling. 

“We’re _fashionably_ late, darling,” Frank corrected. “But later than that is considered rude in the Royal court.”

They were stopped by a harried-looking Henry Mudd, who appeared out of a side alley with a hiss. Frank paused, clearly torn between wanting information and wanting to get to the party. Mark ignored the informant and continued walking until Frank yanked him backwards by the arm and pushed both of his sons into Mudd’s alley.

“Father!” Mark protested, rubbing his arm.

“Mr. Mudd,” Frank purred, ignoring his eldest son. “What a lovely surprise.”

Mudd grinned lecherously. “And what an honor to see you, Sir.” He bowed low and kissed Frank’s hand. 

Giggling, Frank fluttered his eyelashes. “Do you have any information for us?” 

Jack rolled his eyes and gagged.

“I have more than that, my Lord,” Mudd said. He looked around, as if watching for any spies who might overhear their conversation. Then he leaned in. “I have this.”

“Oh, Henry,” Frank breathed, eyes widening. In Mudd’s outstretched hand was a personal comm - the Queen’s personal comm.

“How did you get this?” Jack demanded.

Mudd looked miffed. “A gentleman’s got to keep some secrets,” he said. 

“And what secrets they are, Henry,” Frank smiled, subtly elbowing his youngest. “I know just what to do with this.”

“There’s more,” Mudd said. He shuffled forward, sharing Frank’s personal space. Mark scrunched his nose. “Courtiers are talking. Prince Spock hasn’t been seen in almost ten hours. Nobody seems to know where he’s gotten to.”

Frank hummed noncommittally. “He’ll show up sooner or later,” he said, bringing his fingers to Mudd’s temple to brush away nonexistent hairs. “And you’ll let me know exactly when that is, won’t you, Henry?” 

“Yes,” Mudd said breathlessly. Frank could see him shaking. Goosebumps formed where the Baron’s fingers traced a path down the side of his face and neck. 

“You must know, surely,” Frank murmured, nuzzling his nose against Mudd’s, “that I’ve quite enjoyed our time together.”

“I’m getting an inkling, my Lord,” Mudd whispered, eyes half-closed in delight.

Frank chuckled. “Perhaps when my son is crowned Prince Consort our… dynamic can change.” 

Shuddering, Mudd shifted his weight from one foot to another. “I’d like that,” he said. He brought his hand up to Frank’s arm hesitantly, but Frank stepped away before he could touch him. 

“Until next time, my dearest Henry,” he said, grinning coyly. 

When he ushered Mark and Jack out of the alley, his eldest snorted. “That was disgusting,” he declared, pushing through the crowds.

“That was for your benefit, darling son,” Frank said primly. 

They started once more, the boys becoming excited and loud as they neared their destination. But Frank veered them to the left, slowly taking them away from the party. Confused, Mark and Jack walked sullenly behind their father until they emerged in the city center, where the King and Queen’s retinue of hovervehicles idled. Sarek and Amanda were in the lead car, conversing together, unconcerned with the crowds swirling around them.

“Now is your time,” Frank whispered to Mark, pressing the personal comm in his hands and shoving him toward the large crowd of courtiers. Mark gulped and stumbled forward.

“Your Majesty?” he called. “Queen Amanda?” 

She turned to look at him, frowning. “Yes, child?” she asked, clearly displeased at being interrupted.

Mark pulled out all the stops. He blushed and ducked his head, fluttering his eyelashes. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I saw you drop this earlier and ran here to give it to you,” he said with false humility. Extending the personal comm out to her, Mark gave a deep bow.

“Oh,” the Queen said, surprised. She took it out of his hand and examined it carefully. “Thank you, dear. I had not even remembered that I took it with me this morning. That’s very noble of you; a lesser being would have pocketed it.”

Mark demurred. “Your Highness is too kind,” he said, then stepped back. 

Queen Amanda leaned forward and whispered with her advisor. “Erm, Mark?” she called out, beckoning him back. 

“Yes, Your Highness?” he asked, looking up as if surprised. Behind him, Frank gripped Jack’s arm tightly.

“Please join me for tea tomorrow, dear,” she said kindly. “And bring your father, too.” 

Mark beamed. “It would be our pleasure, Majesty,” he said.

Back with his father and brother, Mark practically squealed. “She invited us to tea!”

“Oh! I love tea!” Jack said excitedly.

Frank scoffed. “Not you,” he said. Then, to Mark, “That’s delightful dear. We’re exactly where we want to be.”

Jack deflated, pouting. “I never get to do the fun things Mark does,” he complained.

Mark tossed his head. “Don’t worry, Jackie,” he said, using Jack’s childhood nickname. “When I’m Prince Consort, I’ll have lots of tea parties and you’ll be invited to most of them.” 

\---

Their trip took nearly twenty minutes. Spock drove and listened to the Count converse about any and everything. When they arrived, they took in the beautiful Huron Monastery with wide eyes and hushed whispers. George pointed out book after book he wanted to read, sighing over their well-worn spines and dog-eared pages. Spock found he could not resist watching his companion’s face shine as they walked together.

“Do you have a favorite?” Spock asked, standing close to the Human. 

George smiled and traced the bookshelves with his fingers. “I could no sooner choose a favorite star in the sky.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. I would live here, if I could, and read and read until I’d read all of these books,” George said dreamily.

Spock tilted his head and regarded him. “What is it that touches you so?” he wondered.

“My mother read to me when I was young,” George confessed as they rounded another corner in the monastery’s enormous library. “I used to fall asleep to the sound of her voice. I would give anything, anything to hear that sound again.”

“You feel closer to your mother, even though she is deceased, when you read,” Spock said. It was not illogical to him; Human brains developed and stored memories in strange and vast ways, and accessing them often comforted Humans in times of distress or pain. 

George turned to look at him, and at first Spock was afraid he had overstepped and spoken too freely; Michael told him once that if he was not the Crown Prince, people might feel obligated to punch him when he was too blunt. But George did not appear offended or unamused. Rather, his eyes sparkled, and he looked at Spock like he was finally being understood.

“Yes,” he said. “I could lie awake all night or even read the same book over and over if it reminds me of her. Science, philosophy, history - anything, really. She was a wonderful woman. I’ll never forget her.”

A strange feeling came over Spock. He had never experienced its likeness before. If he had to name it, he might call it melancholy. It ached. Spock turned away before George could see his misery.

“Your Highness?” George called after him, touching his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Spock said. His voice was raspy, which rather surprised him. He turned to look at his companion, whose eyes were wide and concerned. “No,” he repeated, “I have simply come to realize that, in all my years of education, not one of my finest tutors showed even a fraction of the excitement for their subjects as you have shown me in the past ten minutes.” He searched George’s face. “You have more passion, more conviction, in one memory than I have in my entire being.”

“Your Majesty, if I have said anything to offend you -” George began earnestly, but Spock simply held up a hand. 

“Do not,” he said. He relaxed his features, placing his hand on George’s arm. “It is not you.”

The rest of their tour was quiet. Spock could see George try to contain himself from exclaiming over everything that excited and amazed him. Each time he caught the twinkle in the Human’s eye, the ache in his side grew stronger, swelling until it consumed his body. 

But perhaps it was wrong to call this simple feeling melancholy. Perhaps it was something more.

“Your Highness?” George asked softly, resting a hand on Spock’s arm. They were walking back to the hovercar, golden rays of sunlight trickling through the thick forest of trees around them. 

Spock looked over at him, broken out of his silent reverie. 

“I -” George hesitated, then: “I’m sorry.”

“Apologies are illogical where no offense has been given,” Spock said, breathlessly analyzing the weight and warmth of George’s hand over his many layers of clothing. He didn’t dare move a muscle for fear that the Human would take his hand away. “For what are you apologizing?”

“For today. You seem upset. I didn’t mean -”

Spock inhaled sharply. “Upset?”

George paused. “Aren’t you?”

“I -” he took stock of his emotions, and found that he was upset, but not in a way he had ever felt before. “I do not know,” he admitted. “You make me feel so many things, George.”

The Human blushed and dropped his hand. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Shaking his head, Spock stepped closer to him. “Please, do not be,” he said softly. “I have come to the realization that - that I admire you for your passion. You have shown me that emotion is not simply wasteful or undignified, but that it can be channeled into something useful. It had not occurred to me that someone like you could make emoting desirable.” 

Again George blushed. They began to walk again, making their way slowly to the hovercar that awaited them. Spock wished, for the first time in his life, that he was able to slow time down, warp it so they could stretch this moment out for hours and enjoy each other’s company. He had not even parted from his Human and he already missed him.

Reluctantly, Spock opened the door for George, then climbed in to the driver’s seat and began driving. They were oddly quiet this time, but Spock couldn’t deduce how to make conversation. His mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps he had upset the Count by making such a bold declaration at the Monastery. 

The hovercar’s engine sputtered not fifteen minutes into their journey. Spock’s nostrils flared in frustration, though he attempted and was mostly successful at concealing such an emotional response.

“Oh,” George said as the vehicle limped to the side of the road before dying completely. “Well, I guess it’s not so bad. We’re pretty close to Des Moines, I think.”

“Is that a city?” Spock asked. There were simply too many on the continent to know them all.

George’s eyes sparkled. “Yes,” he chuckled. “I don’t know if they’ll have a train for us to take to Riverside, though. They might all be closed by this time.” 

Spock pursed his lips. “I suppose we can call the Monastery,” he said, retrieving his personal comm. “They can send a vehicle for us, and we can stay the night until someone from the palace provides a car.”

“The night?” George’s voice sounded strangled. “Oh, that’s - I’m expected back before tomorrow. We can walk back to Riverside. I’m sure you can borrow my - my cousin’s car again.” 

With that, he unbuckled his safety belts and hopped out of the hulking hovercar. Spock watched him incredulously before also unbuckling himself.

“Count Kirk,” he called out, locking the vehicle behind him. “Wait!” 

George looked over his shoulder, still walking. The sun was setting in the west, and the Count looked beautiful bathed in the golden-orange glow.

“It is much too far to walk,” the Prince said, catching up to his companion. “Surely we can just call the Monastery -”

“Honestly, Your Highness,” George teased, “where’s your sense of adventure?”

Spock blinked and watched the Count walk ahead of him. How had he managed to let this Human into his life so quickly? If anyone else had spoken to him thusly, he would have let them know his displeasure. As it was, Spock secretly thrilled at the prospect of walking all the way back to Riverside with George by his side.

They managed to walk five miles before the sunset’s fading light became an issue. As the sun continued to sink beneath the horizon, George decided to climb a tree to ensure they were walking in the right direction. Spock waited beneath him, pacing at the base of the trunk. 

“How has this happened?” he groused, folding his arms. “Remind me, please, George, why you are up there and I am down here?”

George’s laughter trickled down from the great boughs holding him up. “Where would we be if you fell from here and broke your Royal neck?” he teased. “I think we’re going the right way. I can see the barest sliver of Loon Lake from here.”

“And remind me also why you are in your underclothes up there?” Spock demanded, blushing jade on his sharp cheeks. He eyed the Count’s clothing, folded neatly on a large boulder nearby.

He looked up to see George’s grinning face peering at him from between the branches.

“It wouldn’t do to tear my clothes, now, would it?” he asked. “Now turn around. No peeking until I’m all the way down.”

Spock shook his head and attempted to quell the smile threatening to take over his lips. When he turned, however, he was surrounded by the same group of Rowapi thieves he had faced down only a few weeks ago. There were at least two dozen of them standing in a half-circle around him.

“You again,” Spock said, narrowing his eyes. 

In response, the same Rowapi man who had dragged him into the lake pulled his fist back and swung at the Prince’s face. Spock dodged the blow easily, but found himself on the ground all the same as three others joined their friend to try and bring the Vulcan down.

“Let him go!” he heard George yell.

Though the Rowapi as a people were rather smaller than Humans, they still fought desperately, tooth and nail. Spock struggled to pull them off of him, but even with his superior Vulcan strength he was locked in a fight with the four thieves. He tried to tell George to stay up there, but was distracted by the sudden echo of a phaser shot. 

Though it was logical, Spock found it extremely difficult to cease fighting. He glared at the ringleader who held a phaser to his throat. 

“Look here,” the thief called out to his fellow thieves, baring his pointed teeth. “We’ve got a Prince, lads. And whoever you are, my sincerest apologies; but I must take this set of clothes. They’re just too nice to leave lying around,” he laughed.

George grunted, leaping off of a branch ten feet in the air to tackle the ringleader to the ground. With a shout, the Rowapi had George surrounded; they held his arms behind his back and another phaser to his head. If Spock had had the time, he would have appreciated the way his chest heaved and his muscles flexed beneath taut, sweaty skin.

“I demand you release us at once!” George said coldly, snapping Spock out of his rather embarrassing thoughts. “And I also demand, on behalf of the Crown Prince of the Federation, that you provide us with a hovercar, since ours broke down.”

The two Rowapi behind the Count holding his arms exchanged glances. The leader simply laughed.

“You demand it, eh?” he asked. 

“Release him,” Spock commanded, standing slowly. He kept his hands raised to show he would not fight. The phaser pointed at him followed his movements carefully. “Your quarrel is with me.”

The leader stroked his chin for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll tell you what, Whoever-You-Are: you can leave here with whatever you can carry. On my honor.”

“Whatever I can carry?” George repeated suspiciously.

“I promise,” the Rowapi said, grinning.

Released by his captors, George simply glared at the surrounding thieves. He walked toward the ringleader. Spock thought, with much relief, that he would take his clothing and go to Riverside, calling for aid from the King. Instead, however, George veered toward him. Spock’s heart raced as he faced the barely-clothed Human. He tried, he really did, to focus on George’s dazzling eyes instead of his flushed, pink nipples and the way his abdomen clenched.

“Your Majesty, I apologize in advance,” he murmured. Then, without warning, he bent and lifted Spock onto his back and shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Blinking, Spock heard the Count grunt with exertion. Slowly they turned to face the Rowapi leader, who stared at them slack-jawed.

“Gentlemen,” George said, his voice slightly strained as he carried the dense Vulcan. Then he dipped in a slight bow and began to walk away.

“George, wait -” Spock began, but he was interrupted by howling laughter behind them. He turned his head to find the thieves bent over double, leaning on one another for support as they laughed and laughed.

“Stop!” The leader cried, holding his stomach and chuckling. His fangs were completely retracted in his gums. He looked much less threatening without them. “Stop, I’ll give you a car!”

In fact, they did not need the Rowapi to give them a car. They had the spare parts needed to fix Spock’s broken down vehicle and the specialized knowledge to put them all together. Grateful, Spock and George - now fully clothed once more - tried to thank them and leave; the Rowapi would not have it.

Thus they found themselves sitting near a bright, billowing campfire, surrounded by their former enemies who fed them, drank with them, and danced. Spock could not keep his gaze from the Count for very long. His eyes reflected starlight and firelight, and the warmth from the bonfire and the alcohol flushed his cheeks and made him even more prone to smiling. Finally, Spock was able to get George’s attention focused solely on himself. Unfortunately, George only wanted to play a game called “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” which required extensive use of the hands.

“Ready? One, two, three!” George giggled, flattening his hand in front of him. Spock extended his fist at the same time. This was, he understood, supposed to represent a stone, or the proverbial “rock,” and George’s flat hand, paper. It was quite illogical, Spock thought, to use ancient tools like these when there were far superior ones in the modern age, not to mention ones that could be represented using one’s hands just as well.

George interrupted his musings by brushing his hand over Spock’s fist. Spock froze.

Although all courtiers from a young age learned many Vulcan customs and even sometimes the Vulcan language, there were some aspects to their culture that were kept secret from any outsiders, even Federation members. 

Sensitive hands was one of them.

Spock felt his mouth go dry.

“I win, Your Highness,” George said smugly, his voice slightly slurred from the alcohol he’d consumed. His hand covered Spock’s fist. Completely unaware of how Spock struggled to keep his composure, the Human grinned. His fingers were warm and strong, and the Prince yearned to press extremely inappropriate Vulcan kisses to the calloused palms. “You have to tell me something now.”

Swallowing, Spock pulled his hand away slowly. The Count had insisted there be “stakes” in their game, and Spock had foolishly agreed to let him decide what they were to play for. 

“Secrets,” George had whispered conspiratorially. 

So now he was to tell the Count a secret.

“I -” Spock swallowed again. “I have never told anyone this,” he confessed. George instantly became serious.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he rushed, flushing even redder, “you don’t have to -”

“No,” Spock interrupted firmly. “These are the rules and I did agree to play by them.”

George giggled again and dropped his face into his hands. “You’re not drunk,” he said, peeking up at the Prince, who cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re supposed to be at least _tipsy_ when you play these kindsa games. Everyone knows that.”

Spock nodded sagely. “It is good, then, that I have such a willing teacher in the face of such ignorance,” he said solemnly. George burst out laughing.

“Go on,” he said, taking a sip of water.

Clearing his throat, Spock dropped his gaze. “I have never wished to rule,” he admitted quietly. “It has never been a desire of mine to take my father’s crown when he dies. I would not even know what to do with such power should it come to me.”

Silence stretched between them. When he looked up, Spock was surprised to see a concerned furrow in the Count’s brow.

“But what about all the good you could do?” he asked when Spock met his eyes. “You would have the power to influence people, to change unjust laws -”

“To be known only as my title, never as a person,” Spock said bitterly. “Respectfully, George, you do not know what that is like.”

A thick, blond eyebrow rose. “You have no idea,” the Count murmured, looking away.

“What do you mean?” Spock asked, frowning.

George hesitated, looking back at him. Then he gestured vaguely to the people around them, who were now gathered around the fire, singing. “The Rowapi are known as only that and never more,” he said. “As thieves and tricksters, never as caring parents or great artists. Those of us on the outside look on them poorly and never give them another thought. Is that not unjust, Your Highness?” he asked earnestly.

Spock stared at him in wonder.

“I’m sorry,” George blushed, laughing at himself. “I’ve let my mouth run away with me again.”

“On the contrary: it is your mouth, George,” Spock said softly, “that has me completely enchanted.”

Their eyes locked. Slowly, Spock leaned forward towards the Count. His gaze flicked to the Human’s plump, pink lips. He had previously had sexual assignations with others, but never felt real pleasure kissing anyone in the Human way before. Still, the thought intrigued him when it came to Count Kirk.

“May I kiss you?” he asked breathily. George simply nodded, watching him with wide eyes.

Spock pressed his lips to George’s, tender and gentle and oh it was so sweet. But there was something more, something sparkling and humming under the surface of Spock’s skin at the mere touch of his lips. Vaguely, Spock tried to brush off the frantic thrum building in his body, but it would not be ignored. Suddenly, it became clear to him as the word exploded in his mind’s eye.

_T’hy’la._

George was still, not breathing as Spock kissed him again and again softly.

“Is this alright?” He pulled away, brow furrowing in concern. 

George blushed. He touched his lips with the tips of his fingers. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he confessed. Tiny freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks were even more prominent under the bright red flush.

Spock allowed a small smile, then shuffled forward until he sat in front of the Count’s crossed legs. He yearned to touch George’s skin again, to feel the satisfied murmur of _t’hy’la_ in every corner of his mind. Reaching out, Spock gingerly cupped the Human’s face in his hands, focused on the adoring, wide eyes that met his. He leaned in again. 

This time, George kissed him back. Hesitant and unsure, his lips moved against Spock’s slowly. Spock may as well have arrived at the gates of Sha Ka Ree; he was bathed in golden bliss every time his lips pressed against the Count’s. 

“Ooooh,” a mocking voice called out. Spock separated from George, unhappily, turning to frown at whoever interrupted them. The group of Rowapi stood around them, pointing and grinning at the Prince and the Count. They began to laugh, then clap, and some wolf-whistled for the couple. George giggled behind him, and Spock bit the inside of his lip not to laugh, as well. Caught, they could do nothing but join in on the revelry around them.

\---

Back at the farmhouse, the other three servants tip-toed around Frank, doing their work as quickly and quietly as possible to get away from his cold ire. Indeed, though they walked on eggshells whenever they had to be around the Baron, Frank snapped at every minor mistake, glared and cursed at every imperfection. 

Darkness fell. Jim was still not home. Frank was furious.

Standing at the windows that overlooked the front of the house and the lane that led up to it, Frank glowered out at the night.

“I demand to know the minute he gets home,” he said icily. Hikaru and Chekhov, who were preparing his bed and fire as part of Frank’s nightly routine, glanced at each other.

“Yes, sir,” they murmured.

\---

“Oh, right here is fine,” George said softly. “I wouldn’t want to wake anyone up.” Spock slowed the oversized hovercar in the lane until it came to a stop. He looked over at his Human; he was curled in the seat, cuddled around the Prince’s free arm with his head on Spock’s shoulder. Spock kissed the top of his head gently, then freed his arm from the Count’s grasp. George pouted, but Spock ordered him to stay; quickly, he walked around the car and opened the passenger door, helping a giggling and quite tipsy George onto his feet.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” George said. He tilted his head back to look at Spock, who rested his hands at the Human’s side. 

Spock quirked an eyebrow. “It is I who should be thanking you.”

“What?” 

“You saved my life,” he murmured.

Even in the moonlight, Spock could see George blush. “Anyone would have done the same in my place, Your Majesty,” he started, but Spock interrupted him, holding the Human’s cheek in his hand.

“But it was you there, not anyone else,” he insisted, leaning forward. “And please, call me Spock, if you don’t mind.”

“Spock,” the Human whispered. Hesitantly, he moved toward the Prince, brushing their lips together. Spock kissed him back, slow and tender at first, but more enthusiastically as George whimpered with need. 

He pushed the Count backward gently until George’s back was flush with the hovercar. Spock slipped his tongue into George’s mouth, relishing his gasp of surprise and pleasure. His mind screamed out to join with the Human’s, to share in his t’hy’la’s soul. Spock’s fingers itched to fit against George’s meld points; he wanted to dive into the mind of the man who felt like home. They could be bonded, he thought, vaguely aware that he was now grinding his hips against the Count’s and pressing a thigh between his legs. If he could take George here and now, they would be inseparable; his father wouldn’t dare come between them.

Spock felt lightheaded with desire when George pulled away, breathless.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I - I need to go.” 

A growl built in his chest, but Spock quashed the primal urge and cleared his throat instead. “Of course,” he said, forcing himself to step back. He pressed one more kiss to George’s mouth. 

The Human, disheveled and out of breath, straightened his shirt. He glanced at Spock shyly and began walking towards the farmhouse.

“George,” Spock said suddenly, catching him by the arm and turning him so they were face to face once more. “I am going to the old Terran palace ruins in the Colorado Mountains tomorrow. Will you come?” 

Laughing softly, George nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I shall try,” he said, grinning. Spock couldn’t resist placing another kiss on his lips, then another. He was ready to kiss his Human all night, but George wriggled out of his grasp and laughed, waving goodbye. Spock smiled, not caring that it was very emotional of him. In fact, he rather liked it, he thought, waving after the Count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extra long chapter!! Thanks for reading through!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets into trouble.

The first thing Jim became aware of was a dull, throbbing pain in his head. Wrapped around his skull, it refused to go away and insisted on Jim’s attention. Next, his stomach warned him of impending trouble - but when he moved to get up, his whole body collapsed, and he began to shiver furiously. 

Somehow he fell asleep again. The next time he woke, it was a more violent affair. Something heavy and sharp fell across his back, drawing a cry from him. Squinting, Jim finally made out the figures of his stepfather and brothers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Frank demanded shrilly, eyes blazing. He held Ben’s shepherding staff in one hand, raised to hit him again. “Are you ill?”

“No. Ugh. Yes,” Jim moaned.

Frank sneered. “Where were you all night?”

“I… got lost.” Jim rubbed his bleary eyes and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders.

“You’re hiding something from me, I can sense it,” Frank said, whipping the meager covers off of the bed.

Jim grunted. “Well, tell me what it is so I can go back to sleep,” he said.

They stared at him in shock. 

“What about our breakfast?” Mark shouted.

Jim stared. “You have two hands,” he mumbled. “Make it yourself.”

It was another hour before Jim could drag himself out of bed. He went down to the spring behind the barn to wash, shuddering with the sharp cold of the water. Now dressed in clean clothes, he made his way to the farmhouse to begin his chores. 

The walk was rather long, and Jim was in no rush. He grinned to himself, picking at the tall grass that came up to his waist as he remembered the way the Prince’s lips felt on his last night, the feel of his tongue against Jim’s. His cheeks flushed red when he recalled the embarrassing noises he made. Perhaps Spock would look past it, seeing as he’d admitted he had never kissed anyone before. Jim’s fingers traced his lips, a dazed look in his eye. When Spock pushed him against the hovercar and slowly rolled his hips against Jim’s, he had expected to explode, or at least make a mess of his pants. 

And then there was that… that feeling under Jim’s skin wherever they made contact. It was like buzzing, or humming, and it sparked whenever they touched. He shivered. Was that love? Hikaru would know best, he thought, but his cheeks reddened at the mere thought of asking such an embarrassing question. 

But then… Jim’s face fell as his mind wandered. He had to remember that this was Prince Spock, not a random servant with whom he was fooling around. He couldn’t afford to be thinking this way. He was nobody, and Spock was the Crown Prince of the Federation. What would his reaction be if he found out he had kissed a servant? Jim bit the inside of his lips as he slowly came to realize that he had to end their relationship, whatever it was. He had no right to be romantically involved with someone who was so unavailable to him. There was no way they could be together, and if Jim didn’t end it now there might be terrible consequences down the road. 

Plus, he tried to rationalize to himself harshly, Spock wasn’t really interested in him. Jim was just a distraction. The Prince was sure to have hundreds of courtiers at his beck and call; he would move on quickly and be happy with someone else.

Jim just wasn’t sure if he could do the same.

Hurrying to the farmhouse, Jim was interrupted in his reverie by Chekhov hissing at him from an upstairs window.

“Jim!” he whispered fiercely. “Get up here! You have to see this, now!” 

Confused and alarmed, Jim ran into the kitchen and up the stairs. From down the hallway, he could hear Mark’s laughter and Frank’s loud voice giving orders. Out of breath and fearing the worst, Jim barged into the room the voices were coming from.

It felt like his heart stopped beating in his chest. Jim’s eyes widened as he took in the horrifying scene before him - his father’s suit held up to Mark’s body, Frank taking measurements on a PADD, and Jack putting George’s Starfleet pins on his own jacket. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered. His hands started shaking.

Frank looked up lazily at him. “Well, look who decided to join us today,” he said sarcastically. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jim repeated, horrified. 

“Trying on my suit,” Mark replied breezily. He swayed with the jacket in his hands, as if practicing for a dance.

“Do you honestly think we’d still let you come to the gala after the stunt you pulled this morning?” Frank demanded with a condescending smirk. 

Jim grit his teeth. “Do you honestly think that your games, your intrigues are going to work? You’re hunting Royalty like a sport - it’s disgusting!”

“You’re just jealous,” Jack sniffed. 

“That is my father’s!” Jim said, his voice rising with the swelling emotions in his chest.

Mark pouted, pushing out his lower lip. “Yes, and he’s dead,” he said.

The room froze. An invisible force snatched Jim’s breath from his lungs. Jack’s laughter died on his lips. Jim walked forward, outwardly calm in a way he had no right to be. He picked up his father’s shiny black shoes, examining them as if looking for a flaw or scratch. In a single fluid motion, he threw his whole body into a punch directed squarely at Mark’s nose. 

With a screech, Mark flew backwards, toppling over the bed and falling head over heels to the floor. Frank’s mouth stretched into a surprised O, and Jack’s hands flew up to cover his face.

“I’m going to rip your greasy hair right out of your head!” Jim shouted, voice crackling with the swelling wrath gathered in his throat. He hurtled over the bed to catch his prey. Mark managed to wriggle out of his grasp and dashed into the hall, wailing and screaming. Hot on his heels, Jim grasped the shoes tightly in one fist and steadied himself with the other, tearing through the hallway after his stepbrother. Frank and Jack hurried after them.

“Father!” Mark sobbed, running around the dining room table. Jim followed him, racing around and around and around until Mark broke away to the kitchen, where the Sulus stood frozen in place. 

The stepbrothers faced each other on opposite sides of the baking island when Frank whistled shrilly to get Jim’s attention. In an instant all of Jim’s rage drained away, replaced by cold fear. Frank held his battered copy of Utopia and stood by the fireplace, where a small but healthy fire was burning.

“James Tiberius, I swear on your mother’s grave, if you take one more step I will throw this book in the fire,” he threatened. 

Jaw tight, Jim looked between him and Mark. His stepbrother looked feral and afraid.

“Don’t,” he choked, looking back to Frank.

“Choose carefully, James,” Frank warned over Mark’s gasping breaths. “Your father’s shoes or your mother’s book.”

“Put that down,” Jim begged, clutching the shoes in his grasp ever tighter. 

“The book or the shoes, Jim,” Frank said, his voice sharp as glass. “Though neither will save you from a sound lashing.”

Sobbing, Jim set the shoes carefully on the island for Mark to collect. In an instant, his stepbrother grabbed at them, holding them to his chest as if for dear life.

“Give it to me,” he said to Frank, feeling every hot tear roll down his face.

Looking straight into his eyes, Frank threw the book down into the fire.

“No! No, no, no, no,” Jim cried. He dashed to the fireplace, reaching for the book, but Frank grabbed his arm and held him back.

“That is for being an ungrateful wretch,” Frank hissed in his ear. As they watched flames devour Utopia’s battered pages, Jim buried his face in his hands. Something inside him was broken now; some part of him that hid hope now quenched it brutally. There was nothing left.

Dragged out by his arm, Jim barely registered his shirt being torn from his chest or the ropes bound around his wrists. He was only brought back to the present by the insistent, sharp pain of the whipping rod brought down on his back again and again. Jim pressed his head against the post to which he was tied and clenched his jaw, body wracked with sobs and jerking away every time he was hit. 

Bones, Chekhov, and the Sulus gathered, standing opposite Mark and Jack. Their lips were pressed together and their faces anguished, a stark contrast to the von Ghents’ triumphant sneers.

Frank finished only when blood splattered back on his face. He threw the rod down and ordered the servants to clean Jim up and get back to work. Mark, Jack, and their father walked back inside without a backward glance. 

As the resident doctor-in-training, Bones took the lead. He untied Jim’s hands gently, his gruff voice demanding clean water, a wash rag, and a bed for Jim to lay in. Chekhov offered his pallet, while Hikaru rushed to get warm water and a towel. Bones and Ben led Jim to the barn. Once they laid him down on his stomach, Bones waved the rest of them off. 

With soft touches and gentle hands, Bones cleaned Jim up, one gaping wound at a time. With no dermal regenerator or real medical equipment, he had to do things the old-fashioned way.

He grimaced at the squelch of skin and blood as he stitched the final angry gash. “You really shouldn’t’a done that, you know.”

Jim could only squeeze his eyes shut and sniffle.

“You’ve made things real hard on yourself,” Bones said. 

“Hm?” 

“What with the stunt you pulled this mornin’, and punchin’ Mark in the face?” Bones prompted, snipping the thick, black thread and tying it off neatly. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” Jim said faintly. Bones blew out a breath. He packed up his supplies.

“I will say, though,” Bones drawled, sitting near Jim’s head, “I ain’t never gonna forget Mark’s feet goin’ over his head like that.”

They giggled a little. It reminded Bones of the good old days when they were kids and spent every minute together, laughing and wrestling and daring each other to do crazy stunts. He smiled softly and placed a comforting hand on top of Jim’s head.

“He shouldn’ta said that about your mother,” he whispered. Jim buried his face in the covers.

“Thank you,” he said, voice muffled through the mattress. 

Hikaru and Ben knocked then, peeking their heads through the door. Bones spoke softly, but Jim still heard him say that he should rest for at least a few days before getting up, and no heavy labor until the stitches came out.

“I can’t stay here,” Jim mumbled, trying to get out of bed. He groaned as his back spasmed. Exasperated, Bones pressed him down by the shoulder.

“And why the hell not?” he demanded.

Jim lifted his eyes to see their three concerned faces staring down at him.

“You know you’re welcome here any time, Jim,” Hikaru said worriedly. “Chekhov can sleep in the outfield barn.”

He shook his head. “Thank you, but it’s not that,” he said. 

Ben’s brow furrowed. “Then what, Jim?” 

“It’s -” He tried to say it, but he couldn’t get past the tears clogging up his throat. “It’s the Prince,” he said, when he could speak again. “I have to see him and end it.”

Hikaru and Ben traded glances. Bones swore. 

“Goddamnit, Jim,” he said furiously, “no, you don’t! People ghost all the time. You just have to lay low for awhile and never think about him again.”

“Bones, I can’t,” Jim protested weakly. He tried to sit up, but his best friend simply pressed him more firmly into the pallet mattress. “If he came around and saw me…”

“But Jim, if he knows you’re a commoner,” Hikaru whispered, “he could have you killed.”

Jim swallowed. “It would kill me if I didn’t do it,” he said. 

“Goddamn romantic sap,” Bones said after a heavy pause. “Alright, look, you can go if you promise to be back before sundown.”

“Leonard!” Hikaru protested, throwing up his hands.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s a smart idea, but you know Jim,” Bones argued. “He’ll go anyway ‘n hurt himself even worse. Now let me get some bandages on these bitches and we’ll see about some nice clothes.”

In the end, Hikaru and Bones helped him dress, ever so careful with the bleeding wounds on his back. They put him on a train out West, urging him to be careful and be back before nightfall. Hikaru couldn’t help but glance back in the direction of the train station when they returned to the farmhouse. He could only hope Jim knew what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else waiting to see what Frank gets coming to him at the end of this? It's [redacted] and [redacted], I couldn't [redacted] [heavily redacted] but we'll get there when we get there :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank discovers Jim's secret. Spock gets a revelation about his love.

With the morning’s emotional rollercoaster over, Frank washed his face of his stepson’s blood and changed into a fresh suit. He ordered Mark to put on his nicest clothes, disregarding his pleas to reschedule when they were to meet the Queen.

“There are certain times in your life that you have to man up,” Frank said sharply, even as he dabbed gently at Mark’s bruised and bleeding eye. “This is one of those times, my son.”

“But what about _this_?” Mark cried, pointing dramatically to the eye that was swollen shut. It was a nasty yellow-green already. “She’s going to ask what happened to me! What am I going to say to my future mother-in-law?” 

Frank tutted. “Well, obviously not the truth. Think of something subtle.”

When they arrived in San Francisco, leaving a pouting Jack behind, Frank and Mark made their way to the palace and gave their names to the Head Guard. They were led to the middle of a beautiful and vast garden where Queen Amanda and her adopted daughter, Michael, sat at a table set for tea.

“Oh, Mark, what ever happened to your face?” Queen Amanda asked, aghast. 

Mark grit his teeth. “Your Majesty, it’s nothing,” he murmured. “I simply had to… save a baby from an oncoming hovercar.”

“Stars,” the Queen said, placing a hand to her chest. “Are you alright? And the baby? I haven’t heard of such an incident.”

Michael raised an eyebrow and sipped her tea.

“It was all the way in Riverside, Your Highness,” Frank interjected. He was going to kill Mark when they got home. “I would doubt that something so mundane in so rural an area would have reached the Royal Court’s ears.”

“Well, it’s still good of you to come,” the Queen said warmly. “I hope you don’t mind - my daughter, Michael, is home from an assignment in Starfleet.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Mark said with a forced smile. “I always say, the more the merrier.”

They sat. “I said _subtle_ , you fool,” Frank hissed in Mark’s ear. 

Michael spoke fondly of her wife, Sylvia Tilly, and their adventures in outer space. She and the Queen bantered back and forth about how long her travels were and how little she came home for any length of time.

“And of course you don’t hear any of the news,” Queen Amanda giggled as Michael rolled her eyes fondly. 

“Oh? What news is that? Has Spock settled down yet?” Michael snorted.

Frank sat rigidly at the table, and Mark’s good eye twitched.

“Well,” the Queen said, leaning in with a sparkle in her eye, “there’s this new courtier everyone’s talking about - Count George Kirk.”

“George Kirk?” Michael frowned. “I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

Mark faked a chuckle. “Well, his name _is_ heard all over,” he said, sounding bitter.

Frank quietly set his tea cup down. “Did you say George Kirk?” 

Queen Amanda gasped. “Oh! Yes, do you know him? I was beginning to think my son had conjured a ghost!”

“No, no,” Frank said. His face was strained as he turned toward Mark. “He’s our cousin. He’s been staying with us for a time.”

“Right,” Mark fumbled, looking confusedly at his father. “Our cousin.”

“Who you sometimes call cinder-soot?” Frank prodded.

Mark stared at him wide-eyed. In a flash, he rose from his seat and walked a few paces away, stamping his feet and screaming. Michael and the Queen watched nervously. One of the guards nearby stepped forward, a hand to his phaser.

“I beg your pardon,” Mark said sweetly when he returned to his seat. “There was a bee.”

\---

If he hadn’t been in so much pain, Jim would have liked to roam the mountains for hours, even days. He wanted to see every slope, every peak, every craggy drop-off covered in evergreen trees and lichen. He’d never seen mountains up-close before. It felt quite humbling to stand near stones that had stood for millenia, to run one’s hands over living history.

Yet his back cried out for relief, and Jim was only Human. He made his way to the palace ruins, trying to hold back tears. Wondering if he should call out for Spock, he was startled by the Prince’s voice behind him.

“You came,” Spock said reverently.

Jim schooled his expression and wiped at his face. He turned.

Prince Spock looked better than ever. His features radiated peace and contentment. He reached for Jim, who dodged his hand with a wince. 

“George,” he started, but Jim put his hand up. 

“There is something I must tell you, Your Highness,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

When he looked up, Prince Spock was mere feet away. “Spock,” he insisted, taking Jim’s hand in both of his. “And I must also speak with you, urgently. Please, come this way.”  
Jim swallowed a whimper as the Prince led him through crumbling ruins of the old palace, felled in World War III. 

“As a child, my family used to hike and camp often near here,” he explained, holding a branch out of Jim’s way. “I grew up playing in these ruins, imagining different realms and battles and adventures. I measured my life by these trees. They were once saplings, no higher than my shoulder when I was a young boy; now they stand tall over me, reaching higher than I knew was possible.”

He paused and turned to look at Jim. “I had a revelation last night,” he said solemnly. “I had thought I had to leave my Human heritage, my emotions in my childhood. I could not comprehend that I was missing out on so much of life because of my dedication to logic.”

“Your Majesty,” Jim sighed, but Spock shook his head and continued, eyes shining.

“It was _you_ , George,” he said softly. “You showed me that emotion is a profoundly beautiful thing, a lens through which to see the world that opens it up to more possibilities than I imagined.”

“It was not me,” Jim insisted. The Prince tilted his head.

“George, you are unlike any other,” he murmured. He reached up to stroke Jim’s face with his fingertips. “And at the gala tomorrow night, I will announce my love to the whole galaxy.”

Jim bit his lip. “You are not making this easy,” he said, looking down.

Spock leaned in, nuzzling Jim’s forehead with his nose.

“Now, what did you want to tell me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the curls resting at Jim’s hairline.

Shaking his head, Jim took a step back. If he spoke now, he would surely start weeping like a child. Prince Spock followed him, holding him by his hips and seeking out his gaze with a gentle curiosity that Jim found impossible to resist.

“Just that,” Jim stumbled, his voice thick with unshed tears, “these have been the happiest days of my life.”

The Prince’s smile, slow and radiant, pierced Jim’s heart. “And mine,” he promised, brown eyes glinting in the sunlight. He leaned in and kissed Jim, sweet and sure, and Jim couldn’t resist melting into it. But when he wrapped his arms around Jim, pressing him closer with a wide palm to the middle of his back, Jim couldn’t keep from crying out in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I must go.”

“George?” Spock called, but Jim pushed him away and ran from the ruins. He didn’t look back.

\---

He hadn’t even made it all the way to the farmhouse before Frank barged out the front door, murder in his eyes. He grabbed Jim by the arm and dragged him upstairs, where Mark and Jack waited in the upper sitting room. 

“Of all the insidious jokes,” Frank hissed, “making your father a Count! It’s almost as ridiculous as a Prince who spends all his time with a slave who sleeps with pigs!”

Jim sighed. He had cried all the way from Colorado; he felt empty of all emotion.

“What bothers you more, Frank, the fact that I’m common or that I’m competition?” he asked. Mark’s jaw dropped.

Frank grit his teeth. “Where is the suit, James?” he asked, his voice threateningly low.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“The suit! The suit I was going to wear to the gala! You hid it, I know it!” Mark yelled. The Sulus appeared at the bottom of the staircase. Bones and Chekhov peeked out from one of the upstairs bedrooms. 

“The suit, the shoes, the jacket - all missing, James,” Frank said, his face purpling in anger. “Where is it?”

Jim took a deep breath. “Where are the statues?” He asked quietly, then, as the rage built in his chest, said louder, “and where is the silverware, and the rugs, and my mother’s old maps?” By now he was shouting. “Perhaps it is with them!”

“You will produce that gown,” Frank threatened, but Jim shuddered with heady emotion. 

“I would rather die a thousand, tortuous deaths than see my father’s suit on that spoiled, selfish cow!”

The tears running down his cheeks were hot like his wrath, but Jim paid them no mind. 

“That can be arranged,” Frank said quietly. He gripped Jim by the arm with one hand and, with the other, steered him downstairs with pressure to his back. 

They entered the kitchen. The Baron flipped up a rug and a little-noticed door outlined on the worn tile. He threw Jim into the old cellar unceremoniously. Groaning, Jim landed with a thud on his stomach. Frank slammed the door shut and locked it with an old-fashioned thumbprint sensor.

“If any of you opens this, you will regret the day you were born,” Frank promised, glaring at the servants. They murmured their assent.

“Mark, get everything we can sell for over a thousand credits,” he ordered his son. “We’re going to the Capital tomorrow morning to get you the best suit money can buy.”

\---

The next morning, Michael sought her brother out as early as she dared. She found him in the planetarium, pensively watching the Ariadnus Galaxy swirl in time with Mozart. 

“Busy?” she asked, sitting next to him.

Spock’s ear twitched. Michael had always teased him about his cat-like qualities; this was her favorite.

“Quite,” he replied.

“Too bad.” Michael plucked at her Starfleet uniform sleeve, deep navy blue against black skin. “I have to speak with you.”

“I know you are returning to your flagship,” Spock said calmly. “Our mother informed me -”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Michael interrupted. 

Spock was quiet and listened attentively to her speech; the frankly horrible tea with the von Ghents, their news about Count George Kirk, and the grief they expressed over the Prince’s wasted time.

Blinking, Spock sat in silence for a few moments. Then he said: “Engaged?” 

“Spock,” Michael murmured sympathetically.

“To a _Gorn_?” Spock continued, incredulous. He stood. “How -”

“They said it was all very quick,” Michael said, watching him pace. “He was supposed to leave this morning.”

“Never to return,” Spock said quietly. “What a fool I was.”

“No, Spock,” Michael began, but the Prince simply continued, pacing the dim planetarium. 

“A fool for not seeing what was in front of my eyes. I was pouring my heart out to him, and he - he was simply trying to say goodbye.”

Michael shook her head. “It’s a noble man who can resist you after pledging himself to another,” she said gently.

They sat in silence for a few moments. “George was my _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock admitted softly.

“What?” Michael asked, unsure if she heard him correctly.

“My _t’hy’la_. I felt it when we kissed. I had never believed, but -”

“But he was your One,” Michael finished for him. She stood and faced her brother. “Spock, I - I’m so sorry. I’ve only ever wished you happiness. If there’s anything I can do, even going after him with the Enterprise, I will.” She paused. “There’s just something bothering me about this whole thing - about George Kirk.”

“Other than the obvious?” Spock looked away. He felt his heart constrict in his side. “No, there is nothing to be done.”

“And what about the arranged marriage?”

Spock turned away and shut off the planetarium’s display. They stood in the semi-darkness, lit only by holocandles that flickered dramatically at the sides of the auditorium. 

“I have made my decision,” he said quietly.

Michael reached out to touch his arm. “Spock -”

“I said I have made my decision,” he repeated firmly, walking away. 

He tried to force himself to meditate, but could only reach the deepest levels of his consciousness for moments at a time before a flash of pain interrupted him. He chased after it hungrily, for he knew it was George crying out for him; his agony echoed in the very well of Spock’s being. He emerged from his rooms hours later, looking exhausted and worse for wear.

It was not just the fact that George hadn’t had the chance to tell him personally about his engagement to another. Nor was it about the lack of warning he received about never seeing him again. It was that he had only just realized he had a _t’hy’la_ , that fulfillment and love were within his grasp before being cruelly snatched away. Perhaps if he had simply told George, he could have called off the engagement and stayed with Spock. Perhaps Spock had been too over-cautious in his reluctance to bare his heart to the one he loved. Perhaps it would have happened either way, and he would have been left broken-hearted forever.

Hours later, Sarek found the Prince walking slowly in his mother’s garden. Deep in thought, Spock walked by his father, completely oblivious to his presence.

“My son,” Sarek said gently, reaching out and catching him by the arm. Spock looked up, startled.

“Your Majesty,” he said stiffly, bowing. “Forgive me, I did not see you -”

“Walk with me, Spock,” Sarek interrupted. Shocked, his son followed him down a winding gravel pathway.

“You have heard the news?” Spock asked quietly after they had walked in silence for some time. 

“I have,” Sarek acknowledged.

“Then why are you here?” 

The King glanced over at his son. “Explain,” he said.

Spock glared at the ground before him. “You have what you wanted,” he said. “I will be married to Sehena in a week’s time. You will get the allyship of Romulus. What more could you want from me?”

Sarek paused, and if Spock had managed to look up in time, he might have seen shock on the elder Vulcan’s face.

“Surely I have not been so opaque with you, my son,” the King said. “I have never wanted anything but your happiness.”

Frowning, Spock turned to face him. “Explain,” he demanded.

“My intentions to marry you to the Romulan General were trifold,” Sarek said, tilting his head. “I will begin with the least important reason to the most. First: it would be wise to have heirs procreated sooner rather than later, so that intergenerational knowledge of ruling is passed down from father to father to child. Second: it is true, I believed a marriage between a Vulcan and a Romulan would have positive effects on our peoples’ relationship. Third, and most important, my son: I believed at the time that I was pushing you towards more freedom, providing you with room to be happy in your own life, in your own way.”

Silent, Spock processed his father’s words.

“You thought this arranged marriage would make me happy?” he asked quietly.

The King inclined his head. “I saw that Michael’s marriage allowed her the space to be more Human,” he said. He dropped his gaze. “I thought that perhaps marriage might give you the space to discover yourself, as well.”

He didn’t know what to say. Spock folded his arms behind his back, racking his brain for any response.

“Spock, you do not have to follow through with this marriage,” Sarek said. He stepped forward and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Michael told me that you planned on bonding with Sehena. I have revealed my intentions to you: now that you know them, I do not hold you responsible for fulfilling a duty I created for you erroneously.”

The Prince wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wished George was present so he could bury his face in the Human’s neck and delve deeply into his _t’hy’la_ ’s mind. 

“Thank you, Father,” Spock said coldly. “But I have made my decision.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shakes fist* Frank, you manipulative bastard!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night of the gala, will Jim be able to stop Spock from making a horrible decision? Or will he be caught up in Frank's traps?

The day of the gala dawned bright and joyous. It seemed the whole world was ready to burst with new life; the corn stalks, golden green and growing fast, waved at dipping, diving, chattering birds. Gardens bloomed to life with heads of lettuce, quickly-ripening tomatoes, and bright shoots pushing out of the rich earth. Cattle in the outer pasture lowed with pleasure as they chewed their cud; lambs pranced playfully through their mothers’ legs in the meadow. Everything and everyone seemed ignorant of the misery in the von Ghent farmhouse.

“Mark, tighten that cinch. Jack, sit up straight - how many times must I tell you? You, over there, get me that water pitcher. Mark, I said _tighten_ the cinch, not _loosen_ it!” Frank’s orders resounded throughout the house until even his sons tired of their father’s voice.

The servants stayed out of their way as much as possible. They tried to stay close to the kitchen, offering Jim words of support and comfort, even if they didn’t know whether he could hear them or not. 

“Father, I wanted to be the peacock!” Jack wailed, tramping down the stairs after his prim brother. “How come Mark always gets the nicest outfits?” 

Mark snorted. “Come now, Jackie, the horse is quite the noble creature.”

“Then why don’t you be the horse?”

“Because I need to be pretty and stand out for the Prince,” Mark retorted. He shook his head, tossing a multi-colored feather over his shoulder. “When he calls me out and up to the stage to announce our marriage, then you’ll know why I couldn’t be a horse.”

Jack pouted. “Why don’t I just pull the hovercar then,” he muttered under his breath.

“If you think you can get us there faster, be my guest,” Frank said, brushing past them.

\---

Outside, Ben Sulu grabbed Leonard by the arm. He’d been in the kitchen only minutes earlier, reassuring Jim that they would get him out of the cellar before the night fell.

“Can you get him out of there?” Ben hissed. 

“Well,” Leonard said, clearing his throat, “no. I wanna, don’t get me wrong, but I ain’t smart enough to get by that lock.”

“Shit. Who is smart enough?”

Leonard rolled his eyes. “Well, I know Nyota Uhura’s been out here lately,” he said. “ _She’s_ definitely smart enough.”

“Then get her,” Ben said firmly.

“Excuse me?” Leonard asked, nearly choking on his tongue.

“Get her and bring her here,” Ben insisted. “Leonard, this might be our only shot.”

“I’m - I’m nobody! Why would she even listen to me?”

Ben shook Leonard by the shoulders, despite being at least four inches shorter than him. “Listen,” he began. “We’ve tried everything short of breaking the lock, and that would notify the Baron. This may be our last chance before Frank gets home from the gala and decides to do something very stupid.”

“But - but - _the_ Lieutenant Nyota Uhura?”

“Jim would do the same for you, no questions asked,” Ben said firmly. 

Leonard watched him with wide eyes. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he mumbled. “You’re serious.” 

“As death,” Ben promised.

“Fine,” Leonard said, “I’ll do it. But I just want everyone to know this is a stupid plan.”

Ben grunted. “Noted.”

With a miraculous stroke of good luck, Leonard was able to board the very same train that whisked Frank, Mark, and Jack to San Francisco. In the third-class cab, there was no chance they would run into him.

Once they arrived, Leonard managed to sneak from the train to the palace without garnering any undue attention. He watched the Baron and his sons greet an inconspicuous palace page. Eyes narrowing on the overwhelming uniform, Leonard grinned wickedly. _Target acquired_ , he thought to himself.

“Ah, Henry,” Frank’s voice floated to the doctor-in-training. The rest of his sentence was swallowed up in the hubbub of the crowd pressing in toward the palace, but Leonard was more than fine with that based on Frank’s body language toward the page. Gagging, Leonard forced himself to keep watching for his chance.

As the three men walked away from the page, Leonard strolled up behind him casually.

“Hey, pal,” he said. When the other man turned around, he struck; one pinch to his neck was all it took.

“Looks like you’ve had too much to drink, buddy,” Leonard said loudly as he dragged the dead weight of the page toward an alley. “Let me help you out there.”

Moments later, Leonard emerged wearing the page’s palace uniform. He plucked at the too-large sleeves flopping over his hands and scowled. With a final huff and a yank to pull his pants up, he started toward the palace.

Inside, he stopped and looked around, mouth agape. Everything was so fine and fancy. It needed to be taken down a few notches, Leonard decided. 

“Excuse me,” he said, flagging down a passing page. They turned to him, vivid yellow eyes blinking at the stranger. “D’y’all know where Lieutenant Nyota Uhura might be?”

Leonard was pointed toward a gurgling fountain; he crept closer and closer, eyes darting here and there to find the brilliant linguist. When he finally spotted her, he thought he might have a stroke. 

She stood at the head of the fountain, drinking champagne with several courtiers. A polite smile was plastered on her face, but she looked like she would rather be elsewhere. 

“Erm… Lieutenant?” Leonard called out, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat as she turned her head to look at him. “Ah, yes, Lieutenant Uhura. So good to meet you! I mean, not meet you, because you don’t know me. I know you, though. Not in a weird way! I just know your work. It’s very good. More than very good. It’s - right, it’s not the time. Anyway you’re real smart and I need your help.”

“Excuse me,” Uhura said, stepping away from her companions. She eyed Leonard. “Do I know you?” 

“Not really, but I’m a friend of Jim Kirk’s,” he said. 

“Jim Kirk? I don’t know a Jim Kirk,” she said, skeptical. “I know George Kirk.”

“It’s a long story,” Leonard said, looking around nervously. He didn’t want to be seen by Frank. “But it’s the same person. He’s in real big trouble.”

Her eyes widened. “What’s happened to him?” she asked. 

Leonard grimaced and offered his arm. “That’s what I need help with,” he said.

\---

With the cellar door closed above him and dank, muddy walls around him, Jim felt like he was buried alive. It was only his friends’ muffled words that kept him sane, offering hope that he wasn’t trapped or alone forever. 

In the dark, Jim lay on his stomach near the furthest wall. His back was on fire, and he could feel the sore muscles in his body groan with discomfort as they slowly mended themselves. Sleeping and waking fused into one dark nightmare; he was alone with his thoughts, and they repulsed him. Questions swirled in his mind, hateful and mocking: _how could you have thought you had a chance with the Prince? Did you really think you could get away with it? He would be disgusted with you. Frank was right. Frank was right. Frank was right._

Gritting his teeth, Jim buried his head in his hands and pressed himself further into the ground. As if that would help. As if he could get away from himself.

A sudden grinding and thumping from above warned Jim that something was going on. He glanced up. Hearing voices, he stood.

“I think we can manage this,” an unknown voice said, faint through the cellar door.

“Be careful,” someone else warned - Hikaru, maybe?

Silence, and then - two pops, and the cellar opened above him, throwing a square of bright white light into the cellar. Squinting in the light, Jim crawled up the stairs toward freedom. To his utter bewilderment, Nyota Uhura stood there with Bones, the Sulus, and Chekhov.

“That was brilliant!” Chekhov was saying, stars in his eyes.

“Yes,” Uhura chuckled. “I will go down in history as the woman who opened a door.”

“Jim!” Ben cried, pulling him into a tight embrace. Jim flinched away and winced as Ben’s hand rested on his back. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, tears forming in his eyes. Jim turned to Uhura shamefacedly. “And thank you, especially, Lieutenant,” he said quietly.

She took his arms. “Leonard told me everything,” she said compassionately. “I understand.”

Jim couldn’t speak. Instead, he shook his head.

“Come on, now,” Hikaru said brusquely. “We have a gala to get you to.”

Eyes wide, Jim stared at him. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “I can’t go.”

“You must,” Uhura insisted. 

“What? Why?”

“If you stay, Frank wins,” Leonard said.

“And the man you love deserves to hear the truth from you,” Uhura added gently. She brushed away hair that had fallen into his eyes. 

Jim felt tears threaten to spill over his cheeks. He sniffed and looked away. “A sparrow may love a Bird of Paradise, Lieutenant,” he said softly. “But where would they live?” 

Uhura’s eyes glinted. “Then I shall have to make your plumage stand out,” she grinned.

“Come on!” Hikaru said impatiently, herding Jim through the kitchen. “Pavel, get the suit!”

\---

By the time he arrived in San Francisco, the gala was in full swing. He could hear the party from outside the palace gates. Strains of music, including traditional Vulcan classics and modern pop songs, mingled in the warm, spring air. Usually Jim could look up and see a full field of stars; tonight, however, they were hidden by the sheer amount of light generated by the partygoers.

He exhaled slowly. “Breathe,” he reminded himself.

Uhura came up behind him, making a few last-minute adjustments to his suit. In what seemed like only moments, she had crafted a lighter-than-air flowing cape that draped from his shoulders to his shoes, billowing dramatically with the softest breeze. Its outer layer was the same midnight shade as his father’s suit, but the underside was a dreamy light blue, complimenting Jim’s eyes. Uhura ran her hands over it one last time.

“You’re going to be fine,” she reassured him, smiling. Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed his forehead. Jim scolded himself for the tears pricking his eyes at the motherly affection.

They parted at the palace entrance. The Lieutenant promised to keep an eye out for him. Jim wanted to be grateful that she was here at all, but he felt like asking her to stay by his side the entire night. 

He rounded the stairs up to the party, nodding dazedly at the courtiers, guards, and pages he passed. From where he stood at the back of the gala, he could see hundreds, if not thousands of people jammed into the courtyard. There were professional musicians, some sitting at a predetermined stage, and some walking around, playing for the dancers. There were tables of gourmet food and droves of courtiers dancing and talking and laughing; Jim’s hands began to shake. He did not belong here. 

His eyes passed slowly over the party until he found Spock. Above the fracas, the Prince stood with the King and Queen and Princess Michael. He looked stoic and stern, his face impassable. Jim yearned to kiss him sweetly and take him far away from this place where noise and smell and sights overwhelmed the senses. Taking a feeble step forward, Jim was startled by the booming sound of King Sarek’s voice.

“Friends, most honored guests,” he said solemnly. The crowd quieted almost instantly. “We welcome you to this gala, thrown in honor of Lieutenant Nyota Uhura - though she seems to have disappeared altogether tonight. We also wish to announce some long-awaited news: our son, Prince Schn T’gai Spock of Vulcan, will join in marriage with -”

He was interrupted by Prince Spock’s hand on his shoulder. Jim shivered with equal parts dread and delight as his gaze met the Prince’s. Warm brown eyes shone from the stage. Spock rushed forward to meet Jim at the back of the gala. Hushed whispers and astonished gasps followed him through the crowd.

“George!” Spock said, taking Jim’s hands. King Sarek raised an imperious eyebrow from the stage. “I thought you were getting married.”

“What?” Jim blinked. “No, Your Majesty I - I must speak with you.”

“You are not engaged?”

Jim shook his head, still stunned. “No, no I’m not engaged,” he said, chuckling.

Prince Spock’s smile lit up his whole face. “I almost made the most egregious error the entire galaxy has ever known,” he said, relieved. “Please, come. I must introduce you to my family. “ He tugged Jim along with him towards the Royal dias. Surprised murmurs swelled through the partygoers.

“Oh, Your Highness, wait,” Jim said, stumbling after the Prince. “Please, I must speak with you -”

“Yes, I know,” Prince Spock said eagerly, only half-listening to Jim. “We will speak later.”

“No, please,” Jim began, but he was interrupted by strong hands yanking him backwards and tearing the cape down the middle so that it hung from threads at his shoulders.

“How dare you?” Frank’s thunderous voice raged behind him. 

“Sir, you will contain yourself,” Spock commanded harshly, taking a step towards the Baron.

“Your Majesty, forgive my impudence, but I must unmask this conman for what he really is,” Frank sneered. “Jim Kirk has been a servant in my household for ten years - he is no Count, no more than I am a King.”

Through a haze of tears, Jim saw Spock turn to him.

From the head of the courtyard, Sarek frowned and called out, “A servant, Spock? What is this?” 

“Tell them,” Spock demanded, squeezing his hand. “Tell them who you are.”

Jim stifled a sob. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Uhura at the edge of the crowd. A neatly manicured hand covered her mouth; her eyes were wide and glittered with tears.

“Bow before Royalty, you insolent fool!” Frank shouted, raising his hand as if to hit Jim.

“George?” Spock asked quietly.

Biting his lip, Jim looked at the Prince’s feet. “My name is Jim. George Kirk was my father,” he admitted. “I am what he says.”

The crowd gasped and murmured behind them. From the stage, Michael’s jaw dropped in dual shock and understanding as the name George Kirk finally clicked in her brain. Frank smirked triumphantly. 

Prince Spock stepped away from Jim slowly, dropping his hand. “A s-servant?” he said. Jim’s heart broke at the loathing in his voice.

“Spock, please, I can explain,” he begged through sobs. Jim stepped toward the Vulcan.

Behind him, the partygoers froze and whispered amongst themselves. 

“Do not address me so informal, sir,” Prince Spock said icily, glaring at Jim. “I am a Crown Prince of the Federation. And you are just like them.” His last words were so quietly spoken that only Jim could hear them. Then he turned and stalked out of the courtyard.

Weeping, Jim fled the gala. His torn cape brushed Frank and Mark, who watched him leave with a glare. As he ran out the palace’s front gate, he stumbled and fell. Without looking back, Jim pushed himself up and on toward the train. His cape tumbled to the pavement before the palace.

Uhura rushed after him, shouting Jim’s name. She reached the fluttering cape he left behind and picked it up. Jim allowed himself one final look when he boarded the train; she stood in the lamplight, alone and calling after him. He turned around and sat back in his seat, beginning the long journey to Riverside.

\---

The gala continued on without him downstairs. Spock leaned over the old-fashioned parapet, watching as many stars as he could still see that weren’t drowned out by the palace’s light pollution. His heart felt shattered in his side. To be so betrayed by someone he loved - _thought_ he loved, he corrected himself savagely. Who ever could he trust now? Spock thought over all of his interactions with George - _Jim,_ he corrected himself again with a frustrated shake of his head - and pieced together all the times he should have known. It was like solving a puzzle in hindsight: where did those odd pieces fit, those baffling moments where George - Jim - acted strangely? 

“Are you quite done feeling sorry for yourself?” Uhura’s voice said behind him. He didn’t turn around.

“I feel no self-pity,” he said defensively. “He betrayed me. I am meditating.”

“Horseshit,” Uhura snapped. She stood next to him as he looked over at her in surprise. “That boy loves you more than you can understand, Spock. Did you even think how much he sacrificed to be here tonight?”

Spock snorted. “You know nothing about it,” he said.

“I know that Jim loves you,” Uhura replied, “and you love him. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“I was born into privilege,” Spock said through grit teeth. “And with that comes specific obligations. I will not be moved on this subject, Lieutenant.”

Silence fell between them. He looked over at her to find Uhura shaking her head solemnly, and in her eyes he found that she pitied him. The Lieutenant gently placed the crumpled, torn cape next to his hand.

“Then you don’t deserve him,” she said, and left.

Spock stood there for an hour, and his eyes never left the fluttering fabric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, intrepid readers, there is yet one more chapter - and I can never bring myself to write wholly unhappy stories ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All looks lost. Can Spock work to undo the damage that's been done, or will Jim remain parted from him forever?

It had been three long days since the gala. As soon as the sun rose, Jim could be seen shoveling the stalls or weeding the garden, and until the sun sank behind the horizon he kept busy and out of everyone else’s way. 

The other servants left him alone for the first two days, but when Hikaru tried to approach him on the third morning Jim simply turned away and refused to speak. Ben tried next, but only received silence to his questions. Leonard didn’t even try to get him to talk; he just sat in Jim’s vicinity and studied quietly, biding his time until his best friend was ready.

Antithesis to Jim’s subdued behavior was the von Ghents’ nonstop, thrilled chattering. At first, the Sulus thought their plotting and fretting was over; but after the first day of analyzing Prince Spock’s smallest reactions and swooning over his every perceived attention, Mark and Frank set about planning for the wedding between the Prince and the soon-to-be Prince Consort.

On the third day, Jim found himself in the vegetable garden, meticulously pulling weeds that could have been sprayed or even glossed over. Back bent, sweat dripping from his skin, he didn’t hear Frank until he was right behind him.

“You know, I have it on good authority that before your rather humiliating debut, Prince Spock was going to choose Mark as his husband.” Frank plucked absentmindedly at a flower he held in his hands, picking the petals off one by one. “Royals are so fickle, aren’t they? Even the Vulcans. One moment they’re vowing eternal happiness, and the next you’re back to being a servant. Although I’ve never seen you so dedicated to your chores,” he mused. Frank twirled the flower in his hand, watching the light play off the petals with fascination. He wore a fuschia suit embedded with pearls around the neck - something new in case the Prince decided to drop by, Jim was sure. He grit his teeth and stood, lugging a bucket full of weeds to the composting heap.

“Bold of you to assume I do any of this for you,” Jim said curtly. He tried to get back to his weeding, but Frank stood in the way. 

“My, my,” his stepfather tutted, “how fiesty we are this morning.”

“Please move, sir,” Jim gritted out.

Frank watched him under half-lidded lashes for a long moment. Then he said: “You’ve brought this on yourself, you know.”

“I have work to do,” said Jim, wondering vaguely about Frank’s cryptic words.

“Let the others do it,” the Baron said dismissively.

Jim dropped the bucket on the ground heavily and backed away. “Don’t you get it?” he shouted, picking up his trowel and shovel. “You’ve won! You got him! Go away and move into your palace and - and leave us alone!”

Frank watched him walk away. “You’re not my problem anymore,” he said quietly to Jim’s back.

Jim froze, then turned. He tried not to cry - he had no right to cry, not now, but he couldn’t stop tears from pricking his eyes. 

“Is that what I am to you?” Jim asked, voice breaking. “A problem?”

“Whatever else could you possibly be?” Frank asked mockingly.

“I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked me to do! And still you deny me the only thing I’ve ever wanted!” Jim said.

The Baron took a step forward. “And what is that?”

“What do you think?” Jim asked, taking a shuddering breath. “All I ever wanted, all I ever needed from you was one scrap of paternal sympathy, one moment of tenderness and love. You’re the only father I’ve ever known. Tell me honestly - has there ever been a time, even the smallest of moments, where you felt love towards me at all?”

They stood under the beating sun’s rays for a few silent moments. Frank let the flower fall from his hands.

“How,” he said softly, “could one ever love a pebble in their shoe?”

Jim dropped his gaze and nodded once. He turned to take his tools to the shed and began to scold himself for not keeping a cooler composure in front of his stepfather. Pavel rushed up to him then, a manic smile splitting his face wide open.

“You have to come see this,” he babbled, tugging on Jim’s arm. “Come on, everything’s back! Everything! Oh, Jim! Everything’s going to be alright!”

With a backward glance at Frank, Jim dropped his tools and ran after Chekhov. Frank followed at a meandering pace, content to watch the drama unfold from a slight distance.

The front of the farmhouse looked like a swarming bee hive. Strangers with heavy builds and sharp glances obediently placed furniture, decorations, and boxes down wherever Hikaru and Ben demanded. Dazed, Jim could only follow the chattering Russian to the center of it all, where a very pleased-looking Khan stood next to an oversized hovercar.

“Ah, Viscount,” Frank said, nodding to his guest. “You’re right on time.”

“It’s all here, Baron,” Khan replied. “Down to the very last paper map.”

Jim stared at his stepfather in disgust. “My mother’s sculptures? Her rugs, her books? You sold them to him?” he asked, outraged.

“Well, yes,” Frank said nonchalantly. He shrugged. “And now they’re back. I couldn’t very well have us looking impoverished in front of the Royal family, now could I?”

Tiredly, Jim wiped his sweaty brow, leaving a smear of dirt from the bridge of his nose to his temple. “Thank you, sir,” he said to Khan. He felt exhausted, like he could sleep for the next year. “Our family is grateful for what you’ve done.”

“I’m a businessman, not a philanthropist, James,” Khan said amusedly. His eyes glinted. Jim looked from him to the Baron, not understanding. At his shoulder, Pavel tensed and gripped his arm even harder, if that was possible.

The Viscount cleared his throat. “Frank and I have come to an… arrangement.” He smirked triumphantly and reached out to clean the dirt off of Jim’s face. He only smudged it further. Jim shrank back and stared at his stepfather.

“You, for all this,” Frank said, pointing from Jim to the furnishings cluttering up the farmhouse’s front yard. He shrugged. “I can’t exactly have you running around the place, distracting Prince Spock, now can I?”

Jim furrowed his brow, but his brain had hardly caught up with the reality of the situation when Chekhov was shoved away from him mercilessly and vice-like hands grasped his arms. He was steered toward the back of Khan’s sleek hovercar forcefully, like a recalcitrant child. Grunting and shouting, he fought the Viscount’s men fiercely, yelling for the Sulus’ help, but it was no use. The others were held back by the huge brutes, who grinned and mocked the servants’ empty threats and helpless pleas. With one last look out the hovercar’s darkened windows, Jim glared at his stepfather standing tall and victorious next to his sons. Khan pinned his arms and grinned down at him, trapped as he was between the Viscount and the wall of muscle behind Jim. 

“Well, now,” Khan purred, “how about we get to know each other a little better, shall we?”

\---

Soft sunlight filtered through high, narrow windows. Spock could count the dust motes hanging in the air if he was able to focus; as it was, his attention was scattered as it had never been before.

It was George’s fault. Jim’s, Jim’s, he corrected himself angrily. The nerve of a servant to pose as not only a courtier, but a Federation hero was astounding, to say the least. Spock berated himself over and over, mentally replaying every interaction he’d had with the impostor. In hindsight, he felt confident in his ability to spot tiny mistakes and blown covers. If only it had been that simple in the moment.

Everyone had tried to speak with him about it. Michael had insisted on seeing him, apologizing profusely though she was not at fault. Typical Michael. Then his mother came to see him, and he thought that was worse. Until Sarek sought him out. That was definitely the worst.

Meditating helped somewhat, but Spock could not ignore the feeble bond that cried out to be connected to its mate. The Prince berated himself for thinking it was a _t’hy’la_ bond. How stupid, how naive he had been to think it was the strongest and rarest of all bonds a Vulcan could have. Disgusted with himself and with George - Jim - Spock simply shut everyone else out and prepared for his wedding to Sehena with cold decisiveness. 

Here he found himself, in the Hall of Ancestors, entering into a bonding ceremony with none other than the Romulan General. He looked across the narrow aisle separating them to find her calculating gaze already zeroed in on him. Sehena was beautiful, he had to admit; her lithe figure and quick mind were very attractive, and yet -

Spock forbade his mind from entertaining that train of thought. He forced himself to focus on T’Pau’s words; she chanted melodically on that low, throaty voice of hers about the responsibility of spouses to one another, the burden of the marriage bond, the fulfillment of _Pon Farr_ , and other marital duties the Prince had no real interest in. 

Tensing, Spock was brought back to the present by T’Pau’s hand on his face. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the coming bond; he could picture it, swirling orange and green for the Romulan and an intense, midnight blue for the Vulcan. Almost like the blue of George’s suit, he mused, thinking back to the gala. Spock grit his teeth and schooled his thoughts. He was being bonded to Sehena, for stars’ sake. Not some... servant.

A long pause drew Spock out of his thoughts. With a quick glance up, he confirmed that it wasn’t just his imagination. T’Pau’s wrinkled face grimaced thoughtfully. She regarded both the Vulcan and the Romulan with twinkling eyes.

“This bonding cannot be,” she declared, withdrawing her hands from their shocked faces. 

“Excuse me?” the Romulan King demanded, standing from his throne. Sarek also stood, folding his hands before him in such a manner that Spock knew he was most displeased. 

“Explain yourself, Mother,” Sarek said. His monotone voice belied shocked anger.

T’Pau simply stood from her kneeling position and helped Spock and Sehena rise, as well. 

“This bonding cannot be,” the elder repeated, “for neither party is in love with the other.”

“Love,” scoffed the Romulan King, glancing to his Queen for support, “is hardly necessary in a marriage.”

Queen Amanda cocked an eyebrow, but only shared a silent glance with Sarek. 

Shaking her head, T’Pau held her ground. “Not only are they not in love with each other,” she continued, “their minds are incompatible.”

“Impossible,” Sarek stated flatly. “Both the Prince and the General visited the same Healer who determined their compatibility fully one month ago.”

“Perhaps if I am able to finish speaking,” T’Pau said sharply, glaring at her son, “you would receive the wisdom you both so clearly seek.” Pausing, she looked from one King to the other. Satisfied with their silence, she nodded once and continued speaking. “Their minds are incompatible because they are in love with other people.”

The Hall of Ancestors may as well have been the Royal Mausoleum. No one spoke; no one moved. Spock risked a glance at Sehena. She who at first had reminded him of a sturdy pillar, incapable of being moved or hurt, now looked vulnerable and afraid. Her shallow breaths and panicked look toward her parents bore out T’Pau’s observation.

“Still?” the Romulan King hissed. “That maggot is undeserving of your affections, _paenhe-arham_.”

“ _Saith_ ,” the Queen said firmly in Romulan. Spock risked looking up to the Vulcan Royal dias; his own mother watched him with pitiful eyes. 

Sehena squared her shoulders. “My _lyretha_ is a noble and honorable Romulan,” she declared, staring at Spock as if he might argue. “But for an official bond, we are One. I am his as he is mine.”

Spock’s thoughts were fractured. He could understand Sehena’s position and even felt a certain sense of pride for her in making her own decisions, regardless of her parents’ stance. Still, an unwelcome whisper nagged at the back of his mind: _they are both in love with other people._

Surely not him? Surely Spock could not still be infatuated with the servant? 

Yet how clearly he could see it now: just as Sehena’s love, forbidden was it was by her parents, grew stronger in the shadows, his love for George - for Jim - had flourished even as Spock himself repressed it and formality dismissed it. 

“Madame,” he said, taking her shoulders gently. Spock looked her in the eye and projected all the empathy and compassion he could into his touch. “I understand.”

With a nod and a half-smile, Sehena grasped his forearm and squeezed it in a soldier’s salute. Then, gathering her robes, the General turned and ran outside, where celebrants of all races waited to welcome the newly bonded couple. Spock saw her stop in front of a stoic Romulan and press her hands into his in a brazen display of intimacy. 

Roaring in Romulan, the visiting King and Queen sprinted after their wayward daughter. Spock couldn’t help the chuckle bubbling out of him. Both the sheer absurdity of the current situation and his inner peace at coming to a decision regarding George - Jim - gave him a lightness he wasn’t aware he possessed.

“I am sorry, Father,” Spock said, glancing over his shoulder at Sarek. The King stood with Queen Amanda at his side, much more relaxed than Spock imagined he could look. Surprised, the Prince could only stare.

“For what are you sorry, my son?” Sarek inquired, hiking one eyebrow to his hairline. T’Pau also tilted her head, confused. 

Spock gestured to the now-empty visiting monarchs’ dias. “The agreements with Romulus,” he explained. “They have fallen through because of me.”

“Because of the both of you,” T’Pau corrected. Spock was sure her words were meant to comfort him, but they had the opposite effect.

“ _Kaiidith_ ,” Sarek said, exhaling quickly in a manner congruent with a Human sigh. “What is, is. I shall deal with the Romulans.”

Queen Amanda stepped forward. “Spock,” she said quietly. “I believe we both know what you have to do now.” She nodded, dismissing her son gently. Dazed, Spock simply bowed to his parents and sprinted outside. 

Greeted by a wild, confused, and enraged audience, the Vulcan Prince could only wade through the crowds slowly but surely. Behind him, Sehena and her Romulan mate were being hounded by not only the Romulan royalty, but every Federation journalist within a lightyear’s radius. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock thought he saw the horrid von Ghents, hugging each other and shouting in celebration - for what he was unsure. Still, he tucked that memory away to be analyzed at a later date and focused on getting out of the palace alive.

Finally Spock stepped out of the circus that was his wedding reception. Gasping for air, he bent forward and cursed the tediously heavy traditional bonding robes draped over his person. His mind raced as he tried desperately to come up with a next step. What now? He thought helplessly. All he knew was that he had to get to George - Jim! - as soon as possible. 

With his personal comm, he paged Hendorf and the rest of his personal guard, ordering a fleet of hovercars to be readied at once. He was determined to get to his _t’hy’la._

Even though the Royal entourage sped toward Iowa with single-minded haste, Spock still felt desperation and frustration rising in him. He tentatively checked the weak bond with his true mate. Though present, it was frail and likely to wither if left alone. The Prince grit his teeth and urged Hendorf to drive faster. He would not allow that to happen.

When they arrived at the farmhouse an hour later, Spock jumped out of the hovercar and raced toward the front door. He pounded on it, heedless of the buzzer nearby. 

“Allow me entrance, by order of King Sarek!” he demanded hoarsely. His fist was pulled back to knock recklessly once more, but the door jerked open and surprised him. There stood the doctor student who had pointed Spock to the farmhouse when he had searched for George - Jim - only a few weeks ago. He looked just as surprised to see the Prince as Spock was to see him.

“Where is Geo- Jim?” Spock asked, stopping himself from saying the incorrect name just in time. 

The other man blinked and shook his head, as if dazed. 

“Leonard? Who’s there?” another voice called from inside. Leonard was joined by another man, stocky and scowling. Spock remembered him from the marketplace. “Oh!” he said, upon seeing the Prince. “Your Majesty. What er, what can we do for you?”

“He’s lookin’ for Jim,” Leonard said, narrowing his eyes at the Prince. Which - could he do that? Glare at a Prince? Spock ignored that thought and instead set his shoulders.

“I am,” he nodded. “Please tell me where I may find him. Is he here?”

The other man shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said slowly, “but Jim has been sold.”

Spock stared. “Sold?” he repeated, unbelieving. “Sold? To whom?”

“The great and mighty Viscount Khan,” Leonard spat, still watching Spock with undisguised hatred. “He was sold about a week ago, right after the gala.”

Slowing his breath, Spock forced himself to reassess the situation. He nodded as a plan formed in his mind. Beckoning Hendorf, the Prince whispered his plan to the Captain of the Guard. When he looked back at the servants standing in the door, he saw their fear and sorrow as clearly as he saw Sehena’s love for the Romulan. 

“Tell the Baron these words exactly,” said the Prince, dictating his message slowly so the servants were sure to remember it. “Otherwise, speak of this to no one, for all shall reveal itself in due time.”

Without another word, he and the guard returned to their hovercars and sped away, leaving the von Ghent farmhouse and their servants covered in dust and more confused than ever.

\---

Before Frank could even pull the hovercar all the way into the lane hours later, Hikaru ran up to the passenger window and leaned forward, anxiety plain on his face.

“Baron,” he panted, “the Prince was here.”

Mark scrambled forward from the backseat, scratching Jack in the face in his attempt to see Hikaru more clearly.

“What did he want?” he demanded, torso twisting painfully to ensure his position in the front with his father and brother.

“Father!” Jack protested, shoving Mark’s hand from his body. 

“Speak!” Frank commanded Hikaru, ignoring his youngest son. “The Prince was here, you say? Why?”

Hikaru swallowed. “He said - he said that he made a mistake with the Romulan.” He repeated his given lines slowly, enunciating every word to make sure he got them right. “His Majesty was distraught that you weren’t here. He requested that the Baron Frank and his sons rendezvous with him at the palace in San Francisco tomorrow.”

The three von Ghents were speechless. Hikaru bit his lower lip, anxiously wondering if he did enough to convey the message correctly.

“Rendezvous?” Mark breathed, eyes shining. “Oh, Father, how romantic!”

Frank gripped the steering wheel. His chin wobbled as he tried not to cry. “My son, about to marry Royalty!” he whispered. He shut his eyes tight against tears that threatened to drop.

“Did he say anything else?” Jack asked earnestly.

“He said only to arrive in style,” Hikaru replied. He nodded to them and walked away, his mission complete. He could hear them exulting in the hovercar behind him, and he prayed that the Prince knew what he was doing.

\---

The Viscount’s mansion in Maine was run down, rickety and old in a way that Jim had never seen before. His every step was announced by squeaky stairs and uneven flooring; the creamy wallpaper was curling at the edges, and every faucet dripped with eternal leaks. Thunder boomed outside as he shuffled into the Viscount’s dreary drawing room.

“I do so hate to see you in chains,” Khan’s voice came lazily from one corner. Jim grit his teeth and set down his cleaning supplies. He was here to dust, although why the Viscount bothered when he clearly never had guests was beyond him. “If you would promise not to run away again, I’d set you free.”

Jim simply pulled down an ornamental family crest from the wall in stony silence. His last attempt at escape was nearly successful until one of Khan’s men caught his ankle just as he was scaling the final fence at the very edge of the property. Now he was forced to wear heavy iron chains around his feet. If the creaky wooden floors didn’t give his position away, the clanking chains would.

“I have no reason to stay,” he said to the decorative crest. Crossed behind it were two rusty swords, as if locked in battle. 

Khan tsked and stood from his chair. “You belong to me now,” he said.

“I belong to no one,” Jim replied, not looking up from his task. He removed one sword and began to clean the rust away from the hilt. “Least of all you.”

“Oh, I do wish you’d reconsider my offer,” Khan pouted, walking closer to Jim slowly as a big cat stalks its prey. 

Jim set his shoulders. “I would rather rot,” he spat.

The Viscount stopped behind him, not touching him, but threatening all the same. “I had a horse like you once,” he said softly. Jim grit his teeth and continued his work. Khan grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked Jim’s head back, eliciting a gasp from the servant. “Magnificent creature. Stubborn, willful, just like you. Had a mean streak a mile wide.” He smelled Jim’s hair and tugged on the strands harshly. “It, too, just needed to be… broken.”

Jim shivered. He could feel Khan’s breath whisper over the shell of his ear and down his neck. “You will maintain your distance, sir,” he demanded.

Khan hummed, nuzzling Jim’s temple. “You didn’t say ‘please,’” he purred. The Viscount spun Jim around, intent on kissing that beautiful, smarmy mouth; instead, he came face-to-face with a hundred-year-old sword.

“Please,” Jim said, glaring at him.

“I could have you hanged for this,” Khan warned in a low voice, watching Jim with wary eyes.

Jim tilted his head. “Not if you’re dead.”

“Oh, I do so love your spirit,” the Viscount grinned, grasping Jim’s free wrist and twisting it to pull his body forward. Before Khan could force him close, Jim slashed at his face with the rusted sword. The skin on his cheek tore. With wide eyes, Khan put a hand to the wound and stared at the blood left on his fingertips.

“I don’t know jack shit about swordsmanship,” Jim whispered, staring his captor down. Khan’s wide eyes traced the blade up to the servant’s glittering gaze. “But I do know that a rusty, serrated edge is gonna hurt like hell through your chest. Hand over the keys to these chains or I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll slit you open from navel to nose, you sorry bastard.”

Breathing heavily, the Viscount slowly held up an ancient key. Its head was shaped like a skull.

“Your freedom, sir,” he said. 

Jim’s glance bounced from the key to Khan’s face. He grimaced as he weighed his next moves very carefully.

\---

The retinue of hovercars stopped with squealing tires before the Viscount’s mansion. The gates, rusted and old, groaned with the effort of swinging inward to allow them entrance. One or two rough-looking men stood in the lane, but only watched the Royal entourage go by with passive glares. Spock jumped out of the lead car, ready to rush the mansion’s heavy front doors, but was stopped in his tracks.

He was there, across the courtyard. Shivering in the rain but smiling to himself, Jim didn’t see Spock at first as he was looking over his shoulder. When he turned toward the lane and freedom, he froze, meeting the Prince’s gaze. 

Spock walked up to him slowly, as if he might startle and run.

“Hello,” he said softly, stopping mere feet away from his _t’hy’la._

Jim bowed stiffly. “Your Highness,” he said. 

A moment of silence passed between them. Spock wanted to say something, anything, to confess his love and admit his foolishness, but the words simply wouldn’t come.

“Why are you here?” Jim asked awkwardly, glancing around the courtyard. Spock’s guard stood idly by while the Prince spoke with the servant.

“I - I came to rescue you,” Spock said nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I was told you had been sold.”

“Rescue me?” Jim repeated, his soft voice full of scorn. “A servant?” He walked around Spock and continued toward the gate.

“George,” Spock called, turning and catching his love’s arm. “Jim,” he corrected himself. His grip loosened and he turned his t’hy’la to look at him. “In reality, I came to apologize to you,” he said, cupping Jim’s cheek in one hand. “I offered you the world, and at the first test of my honor I betrayed you.”

Jim’s eyes softened. Sniffling, he shook his head out of the Prince’s palm and backed away. “I’m a mere servant, Your Highness,” he said, “who only pretended to be a courtier to save a man’s life. It was I who betrayed you.”

“Jim.” Spock said his name with such warmth and love that Jim had to look up. 

“Say it again,” he sighed, wiping a tear from his face.

“I am so very sorry,” Spock began, but Jim shook his head.

“The part where you said my name,” he whispered. 

Spock smiled ever so slightly. “Jim,” he said quietly, “do you happen to know where I might find the most remarkable owner of this cape?” 

He brought the fabric out of a pocket at his waist. It unfurled and floated on the breeze gently, much to Jim’s wide-eyed surprise.

“Your Majesty, I -” Jim began, shaking his head, but Spock interrupted him. 

“Please tell me I haven’t lost him,” he continued. He wrapped the cape around Jim’s shoulders and ever so gently tugged him forward, until they stood chest-to-chest. “For he is my match in every way, and every fiber of me yearns for him.” Spock pressed his forehead to Jim’s and closed his eyes, soaking in the feeling of his _t’hy’la_ ’s shuddering breath on his cheek. “I come before you not as a Prince, but as a man in love. Yet I would feel like a King if you, James Tiberius Kirk, would be my husband.”

He opened his eyes to find Jim watching him, gaping and teary. Then he dropped his head into Spock’s neck, shoulders heaving. 

“Yes, yes,” Jim cried, throwing his arms around Spock. “A thousand times, yes!” 

Spock picked him up by the waist and spun him around. They laughed together in the rain, completely ignorant of everyone else around them. Jim kissed him, and Spock felt finally, finally, that all was right in the world. 

\---

Frank strutted into the Throne Room followed by Mark and Jack. Everything in his world was as it should be - Winona’s brat had been taken care of, his pride and joy was going to marry the brightest jewel in the Federation’s crown, and finally Frank would be getting the attention and extravagance he deserved. Beaming, he bowed with a flourish at the dias, where King Sarek and Queen Amanda sat, faces impassive. Behind them and to the left stood Prince Spock, a beautiful diadem resting on his proud brow. Frank could almost hear Mark wink at the Prince behind him.

“Baron von Ghent,” King Sarek said gravely from his throne, “you are here to answer for the charges against you.”

“Ch - charges?” Frank stuttered. His blood froze in his veins.

The King stood silently. “Did you or did you not lie to Her Majesty, Queen Amanda?”

Shakily, Frank stood from his bow, eyes darting between the King and Queen. “Well, I - well, a father would do practically anything for the sake of a beloved son, Your Highness,” he stammered. 

The Royals’ fierce stares bore into him. They did not speak, but their eyes were full of scorn.

“Perhaps I did stretch the truth a little,” Frank admitted with a weak chuckle.

Behind him, Mark gasped theatrically. “Father, you _didn’t_!” he cried, holding a hand to his chest. He stepped up to the dias. “Like you, Your Majesties, I, too, am a victim of my father’s deceit,” Mark declared. 

“How dare you?” Frank grasped his son’s arm and yanked him backward. “Why, you’re almost as bad as Jack, you simpering fool!”

“Well, I for one am ashamed to call either of them family,” Jack offered, backing away from his father and brother. 

“Get back here,” Frank muttered, gripping his wrist like a vice.

“Your Majesty I - unh!” Mark twisted away from Grank’s grasp, “I have been lied to, same as you, and demand recompense for the emotional damage he has caused.”

Sarek cocked an eyebrow and spoke first to Frank. “Baron von Ghent, you are forthwith stripped of your title, and you and your sons are to be sent to Tarsus to do hard labor for the rest of your natural lives. Is that recompense enough for you?” he asked, turning to Mark.

Whimpering, Mark could only turn a pale face to his father.

“Unless, of course, someone were to speak for you,” Queen Amanda said, stepping forward to stand with her husband. “Perhaps someone in the court will have mercy on you.”

Frank stepped backward, looking to each face in the crowd. Some looked down and would not meet his gaze; others stared at him boldly, unmoved by the plea in his eyes.

“Well!” Frank said with false cheer, “it seems there are quite a few people out of town right now.”

The crowd was silent. Before him, King Sarek and Queen Amanda stood like statues. Frank felt trapped, frenzied, cold with the knowledge that certain doom was at hand and he could do nothing to stop it.

“I will speak for him. He is, after all, my stepfather.”

The voice that rang out in the Throne Room was one Frank had heard a hundred times. It galled him and rooted him to the spot, even as all the other courtiers bowed in deference. Mark and Jack, too, though looking confused and bitter, bent a knee.

Turning slowly, Frank came face to face with his stepson. When he had last seen Jim, the boy had been covered in dirt, screaming, thrashing about madly - the picture of a wild thing. But now - now he was practically sparkling, dressed in radiant, bright clothing, wearing a small coronal on his forehead. 

_Wait._

A quick glance back at the Prince confirmed his horrifying suspicion. The coronal and the diadem matched, diamonds refracting blue and yellow light all over the Throne Room.

Suffocating the snarl on his lips, Frank slowly dropped to one knee even as he glared up at his stepson.

“James,” he said in quiet but rage-filled deference.

“I believe the honorific you seek is, ‘Your Majesty,’” Queen Amanda corrected sternly from the dias.

Frank bit his lips. He nodded once, tersely. “Your Majesty,” he grit out.

“Mark,” Spock called, gaining the eldest von Ghent’s attention. “I do not believe you have met my husband.”

Titters throughout the crowd informed Frank just how ridiculous his son’s face looked in that moment. He grit his teeth and glared at the Prince. This man who had been his hope, his future, his ticket to the lap of luxury had now become his mortal enemy. In his heart, Frank burned with wrath.

His attention turned back to Jim. How calm his face was, how beautiful the coronal looked on his head. Frank’s stomach churned with fury. It should have been Mark’s.

“I want you to know that after today, I will never think of any of you again,” Jim said softly, looking down at his stepfather with such pity in his eyes that Frank had to turn his face away in anger. “I will forget you, and all your pettiness and lies and cruelty; but you, I imagine, will think of me every day for the rest of your life.” 

“On Tarsus, no less,” Frank murmured, his voice shaking with rage. 

Jim nodded once to him, then turned to the King and Queen. “All I ask, Your Majesties, is that my stepfather and stepbrothers are shown the very same courtesies they bestowed on me,” he said. 

Prince Spock extended a hand. Jim blushed and stepped forward to press his index and middle fingers to the Prince’s. As they were led away by the Royal guard, Frank, Mark, and Jack wept and railed against the unfairness of it all. The former Baron howled in frustration at his hopes and dreams slipping through his fingers like so much sand. 

Even as they were being herded into the shuttle, Frank looked back over his shoulder and took in the gleaming palace, made more majestic by the sun shining off the San Francisco bay. Knowing that it was all Jim Kirk’s now, and not Mark’s, not his, filled him with a dark despair he would never rid himself of. 

\---

Spock held his husband close as soon as they were alone, breathing in his scent and running long fingers through coarse, golden hair. 

“Ashayam, what is wrong?” he asked softly, hearing a sniffle from his lover.

Jim looked up, his eyes shining. “Nothing,” he smiled, even though tears ran down his cheeks. “I’m crying because I’m happy.”

Furrowing his brow, Spock wiped the tears away with gentle fingertips. “I do not understand Humans,” he said.

“Neither do I,” Jim laughed. He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of Spock stroking his cheek. “It’s just - this is more than I could have ever dreamed. This is the best ‘happily ever after’ I could think of,” he murmured. When he opened his eyes, he found Spock watching him with an adoring gaze.

The Prince leaned forward and kissed his husband in both the Human and the Vulcan ways. His lips, soft and warm, mirrored the gentle movements he made against Jim’s fingers. 

“I concur,” he whispered against Jim’s lips when they parted. “A ‘happily ever after,’ indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you did, maybe leave a comment? If you didn't, why did you even get this far?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If there's anything you see that should be tagged that I haven't already, please let me know in the comments so I can fix it. As always, comments are extremely appreciated :)


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